


Summer's Lease

by GallifreyisBurning, xkingofgamesx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: All of the jobs except employment, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Harry Potter, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Epistolary, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Draco Malfoy, Gentlemen of Leisure, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Home Renovation, Homophobia, Lots of drinking, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Slow Burn, pre-eighth year, slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 74,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22479856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyisBurning/pseuds/GallifreyisBurning, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xkingofgamesx/pseuds/xkingofgamesx
Summary: It was just a letter. And then another. And then another. And then it was something more.The summer after the war, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are both at loose ends, not sure how they fit into a world where both of their roles have been fulfilled, for better or for worse. As the learn to live with surviving, they find, together, an unexpected way forward.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 128
Kudos: 649





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started as a short roleplay style exchange of letters between myself as Harry and @milo_ren_solo as Draco, and sort of took on a life of its own. Before we knew it, we had 74,000 words of exposition, very little plot, and a shit ton of complicated feelings between two boys who are just trying to keep it together. We’re pretty proud of it, to be honest, and we hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Title from William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18: “And summer's lease hath all too short a date”
> 
> Enormous thanks to @Thunder_of_Dragons for the beta read; you're a rockstar! Honorary mention to @wynnyfryd, who tried her damndest but has entirely too many projects. You're both the best!

**Malfoy,**

**I wanted to send your wand back to you, but the Ministry told me you’re not allowed one at the moment. I’ve got it for you whenever.**

**HP**

_Potter,_

_I appreciate your willingness to return my property, which you stole while simultaneously leaving me completely unarmed in the presence of the world's biggest psychopaths. Very kind of you. Truly a hero._

_However, you are correct; I am not allowed any kind of weapon through the duration of my trial, perhaps after. Might as well keep it with the rest of your trophies from the war until further notice._

_D.M._

**Malfoy,**

**Good to see your prattishness survived the war intact. Why even write back just to be a dick? Sorry I borrowed your wand in order to save the world, which included your sorry arse. Didn’t mean to inconvenience you. I was a bit preoccupied with not dying at the time.**

**Cheers,**

**HP**

_Saint Scar-Head,_

_The prattishness survived with the rest of me. Sorry to disappoint._

_Glad you saved the world. I look forward to watching it from a little window in Azkaban. That is, if I even get one of those. My father doesn't._

_I wrote back because I imagine these are the last pieces of correspondence that I will ever get. Might as well use the opportunity._

_Cheers right back,_

_D.M._

**Malfoy,**

**Your last potential moments of freedom, and you use them to continue to antagonize me! Charming. I’m honored, really.**

**Anyway, don’t flatter yourself, I never wanted you dead. Your boss, yes; your psycho aunt, definitely; and, honestly, I wouldn’t have minded seeing your bigoted toerag of a father gone for good either. You, I would have just settled for trying to be slightly less of a shitty person.**

**~~Sirius said the windows made things worse, so for what it’s worth, your dad’s probably better off.~~ **

**You might not go to Azkaban. Who knows?**

**HP**

_The Prat Who Lived,_

_It is familiar and comforting to antagonize you. Call it a coping skill, if you will._

_I, too, am glad to have my family tree greatly diminished. If nothing else, there are far fewer Christmas cards to send out. But, I agree that your side could have taken out at least a few more and everyone would be better off._

_Let's not kid ourselves, Potter. I am still getting the Prophet for now. I have seen what they are writing about me._

_For what it is worth, I am glad you are not dead._

_D.M._

**Malfoy,**

**Thanks, I think? I was dead for a minute there; it just didn’t stick. Bad luck for your roommate; I know he’d really banked on it taking this time. Hope his rent was paid up anyway!**

**God, don’t read the Prophet. They have, if possible, gotten worse? I think I preferred being Undesirable Number One. Like they have any room to judge anyone, self-righteous wankers.**

**I kind of get the comforting thing. If I snarked at anyone but you right now, they’d probably either cry or die of shock. Yay for surviving! I finally get to be my own person! Oh, wait.**

**HP**

_The Boy Who Wishes He Could Sass More People,_

_You think he paid rent? Oh, no. Not even a single Galleon. Terrible house guest. He left his stuff everywhere. Snake skins in the hallway. Corpses on the dining table. Quite inconsiderate._

_The Prophet has gotten worse, but at least it’s something to read. You’d be surprised at the amount of spare time I have these days. At least, for the next four days. I am sure the Dementors will keep me occupied after that. _

_Perhaps, eventually, you will be able to be your own person. At some point, people will have to lose their focus on you. I’ve never seen their attention spans last long on any one thing. _

_I hope it is a good life from here on out. Might be, if you can manage to stop playing the hero for five minutes._

_D.M._

**Malfoy,**

**Ugh, I can’t sass you when you’re being this pathetic and borderline genuine; it’s depressing. I’m working on the Dementors thing. Sorry, things are a bit mad right now; not much time to write, but I’ve included some stuff to read. Hope it helps pass the time.**

**HP**

_Harry James Potter,_

_How dare you. I have never said a genuine thing in my entire life. You are full of lies and falsehoods, Scar-Head. _

_Do not worry about the short response. I’m quite busy, myself, of course. Had to clear a bunch of appointments to even reply to this. The quick note was better; easier to manage with my busy schedule._

_I guess I might take a look at what you sent._

_D.M._

**Draco “Ferret-Face” Malfoy,**

**THE FULL NAME. GASP. THE NERVE OF YOU.**

**I’ve realized I don’t know your middle name, so I’ve gone with my best guess. Am I on the right track?**

**Hope you managed to make some time in your busy schedule to get to the entertainment I so kindly sent your way. Sadly, the Quibbler has recently become almost (shudder) reputable, but Luna was kind enough to share some back issues that for some reason hadn’t sold out their runs. She tells me that the article on the secret underground society of weredolphins infiltrating the Department of Games and Sports was particularly underappreciated.**

**I can’t believe I’m saying this, but good luck tomorrow. I’ll likely see you at the Ministry.**

**H(J)P**

_Potter,_

_I hope you know that the ferret thing was by far the most traumatic thing I have ever endured. Up to, and including, having the Dark Lord living in my spare room._

_ I have seen things that cannot be unseen, Potter. _

_Though, I think that Ferret-Face may still be preferable to the reality._

_I always thought that there were some weredolphins pulling strings. Nothing else really makes sense._

_I also can't believe I am saying this, but, thank you. I can use any luck I can get, honestly._

_I may not get another chance to say it, so just so you know – I knew it was you, at the Manor. I wish I had done more than simply say I wasn't sure. But I knew. And I didn’t want you to die there._

_Have a nice life, Potter._

_Malfoy_

Harry wiped his sweaty palms on the front of his jeans. _What am I doing here?_ he wondered.

“What are we doing here?” Ron echoed from his left, as though he could hear Harry’s thoughts. The courtroom was full of murmuring people in stodgy formal robes, shuffling toward empty spots on the raised tiers of stone bench seating. Across the large, high-ceilinged room, the Wizengamot sat, whispering to each other and shuffling sheets of parchment.

“We’re… fuck. Testifying for him,” Harry managed to choke out. “We’re testifying for him.”

Ron shook his head. “Doesn’t get any less weird the more you say it.”

Harry sighed. “Trust me, I know.” Taking a deep breath and then exhaling determinedly, Harry moved around the edge of the room toward an unoccupied row, feeling self-conscious in his jeans and oversized jumper as he felt eyes on him and heard silence fall in his wake. _Merlin, this is so much worse than I thought it would be_ , he thought, cringing. But he couldn’t let the bastard go to Azkaban. He just… couldn’t.

Finally, the room quieted as everyone settled into their seats. The heavy doors to the side of the room swung open, and — flanked by a pair of uniformed aurors — in walked Draco Malfoy. He was even paler than usual, and his walk was hesitant, no longer the confident swagger Harry remembered from their early years at school. Malfoy’s eyes darted around the room nervously but stilled when they fell on Harry’s face. Harry met his eyes and dipped his chin slightly, nodding in acknowledgment. Malfoy made a visible effort to straighten his spine, pausing for a moment before nodding back.

“Sorry, did Draco Malfoy just NOD at you?” Ron asked incredulously, staring at Harry in disbelief.

“Er, yeah, about that…” Harry mumbled, avoiding Ron’s gaze and rubbing the back of his neck.

The room was incredibly stuffy, making the suit that Draco wore even more uncomfortable than it should have been as he settled into the chair directly in front of the Wizengamot. The pale boy could not help the gasp that left his lips as bindings twisted their way around his arms, even though he had known that it was coming. He had watched enough court proceedings in his time at his father's side to know that it was fairly standard, but still, the reality of it made him feel as though his heart was a bird fighting desperately to free itself from the cage of his chest.

It had been a small comfort to see that Potter had actually shown up for this (a fact which in and of itself was baffling), though he had little time to dwell on it as the whole of the Wizengamot stared down at him as if he were a bug that should be squashed.

He looked back up at them, barely able to stop himself from shaking where he sat, though he managed to keep some semblance of composure. At the center of the high seats before him, Kingsley Shacklebolt unfurled a parchment and read from it: "Draco Lucius Malfoy, you have been brought before the Wizengamot to be tried as a Death Eater for your role in serving amongst Voldemort's army, for the attempted assassination of Albus Dumbledore, and for crimes against the Wizarding World."

The Minister of Magic set down the parchment, looking directly at Malfoy as he asked, "Is it true that you knowingly and willingly accepted the Dark Mark?"

Draco swallowed thickly before replying. "It is true, but what you have to kn–"

"Is it not also true," Kingsley interrupted, "that you engaged in an assassination plot against Albus Dumbledore which resulted in his death, along with the hospitalization of one Minerva McGonagall, as well as the assault of one Rubeus Hagrid?"

"Yes," Draco began, almost desperately adding, "But I didn–"

"Is it true that during the war, you, along with your family, harbored in your home not only a score of Death Eaters but Voldemort himself? A home which then served as a prison for the confinement of those kidnapped under Voldemort's orders?"

"Yes," Draco replied, now lowering his head and not bothering to try to carry on any further with his explanation, knowing that he was fighting a lost cause.

Harry cringed as the charges were read out, one by one, and Malfoy ceased his attempts to defend himself. He’d never liked Malfoy; he STILL didn’t like Malfoy, but even he knew that the way things were being presented was skewed.

Even Ron looked slightly ill. “Are they really saying it’s Malfoy’s fault that He-Who — I mean — anyway, that _he_ lived there?”

Harry grimaced. “Apparently.”

“That’s fucked up, mate.”

“I know.”

Harry’s attention returned to the front of the room where Kingsley had finished his recitation. “It is the opinion of this court,” Kingsley began, and Harry’s eyes went wide. That was it? Was that how all the trials had gone?

“Hang on!” he heard himself saying as he rose to his feet. “Is that seriously it? You’re not even going to let him speak or have anyone speak for him?”

Kingsley looked tired. “Harry… Mr. Potter. The charges are straightforward, and—”

“And that means there’s no trial?” Harry glared. “Just a public reprimand and then a sentence? I thought things were supposed to get better after the war.” He wiped his hand down his face. “I want to speak on his behalf.”

“Mr. Potter,” Kingsley implored.

“Minister,” Harry returned, his posture challenging. Kingsley sighed.

“Proceed,” he acceded with an exhausted wave of one hand.

“Thank you, Minister,” Harry answered formally. “Draco Malfoy did everything you said —” he began, and Kingsley raised an eyebrow at him, “— but half of it he did while underage, and _all_ of it he did while his family’s life was being threatened. And he also saved my life.”

There was a chorus of gasps and murmurs from around the room. Harry could hear Ron shift beside him, but he didn’t refute the claim, so Harry continued. “During the war, Ron, Hermione, and I were captured by Snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor. Hermione hit my face with a stinging hex to try to hide my identity, but we couldn’t get away. Before calling Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange relied on Draco Malfoy to confirm my identity, and he didn’t. He knew it was me, he pretended he didn’t, and by doing so, he bought us time. Shortly after that, I disarmed him and took his wand, which, as most of you probably know by now, is what allowed me to finally defeat Voldemort once and for all.”

Harry was shaking with nerves, but he continued. “I’m not saying that what he did was excusable. Draco Malfoy was a bully and a bigot, and he made terrible choices. But he was a kid. We all were. I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same to protect the people I loved. I just think that should be taken into consideration.”

Harry continued to stand awkwardly for a moment. “Yeah, so that’s… yeah. Thanks.” He sank back into his seat, slumping over and burying his face in his arms. Ron put a hesitant hand on his back, and Harry shuddered.

“Can we get out of here? Please?” he whispered desperately to Ron.

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘course,” Ron answered, sounding shaken. He wrapped an arm around Harry as they stood, and together they hurried out through a door at the back of the stands.

“So, are you and Malfoy, like, friends now?” Ron asked hesitantly once they had reached the deserted corridor outside the courtroom and Harry had taken a few deep breaths to steady himself.

“I don’t know,” Harry replied, sounding a bit strained and utterly exhausted, “but we’ve written a bit and… god, I don’t know, Ron. We’re not enemies anymore, anyway. Not after everything. It’s just too… I’m just _so tired_. I’m so _tired_ of hating people. I’m so tired of fighting. And whatever he did, he doesn’t deserve to go to Azkaban.”

Ron grimaced but nodded. “I know, mate,” he said on a sigh. “C’mon, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Draco had his head bowed, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, as the Minister of Magic prepared to read his sentence, but his head had shot up immediately at the sound of Potter's voice sounding from behind him. He’d tried to turn his head, but he couldn’t catch sight of the boy, so instead he’d focused unwaveringly on his knees, feeling as though he might be sick the entire time that the Gryffindor spoke on his behalf.

When the courtroom fell silent once again, Draco lifted his eyes to the Wizengamot, many of whom had their heads ducked together to whisper amongst themselves. At the center, the Minister of Magic breathed a heavy sigh, bringing one hand up to rub at his temple as he considered all that Potter had said.

After a few minutes of deliberation—minutes which seemed, to the blond, to feel like hours—Kingsley once again addressed the room. "After some consideration, we have found that the defendant—while surely guilty of many crimes—committed said crimes as a child and, more importantly, as a child under extreme duress. We cannot allow such crimes to go completely unpunished, however; justice must be served. And so, it is the ruling of the Wizengamot that, Draco Lucius Malfoy, you will be placed on probation until your twenty-first birthday. You will be barred from leaving the country and will be under regular review of a court-appointed supervisor with the understanding that any further crimes will be tried as an adult and you will be rendered the highest possible sentences. This court is adjourned."

Draco sat with his jaw slack, not realizing that the bindings on his wrists had been released until the members of the court had begun to gather their things. He stood slowly, his legs feeling weak beneath him as he turned to seek out the Gryffindor who had come to his aid, only to find that the other boy was long gone.

Malfoy furrowed his brow, feeling crestfallen for a moment before he turned back to the guards who were already making their way out of the chamber. He was free to go, not that he knew exactly what to do — head back to the Manor, possibly, not that _that_ sounded any more pleasant than his cell. Slowly and quietly, Draco made his way out of the courtroom and toward the Atrium, avoiding eye contact with everyone and pondering how he was even going to make it home without a wand and with his assets still frozen.

**Malfoy,**

**I’m still avoiding the Prophet, but Ron told me you’re not going to Azkaban. Guess you’ve got more years of owl post ahead of you after all! Anyway, I’m including your wand here.**

**HP**

_Potter,_

_I would suggest that you continue to avoid the Prophet. It would seem that some individuals are not particularly pleased with your choice to defend me. Some are even speculating that some of my parents’ associates might have placed you under the Imperius curse to compel you to do so._

_However, Weasel is correct. Your knight-in-shining-armour act did land me with probation rather than Azkaban. Shame, too; I had heard it is quite lovely this time of year._

_I suppose that I will have to grin and bear it through years of receiving your prattle written down for my consumption._

_There is a scratch on the handle of this wand that I know was not there when I loaned it to you. I can't imagine what you did with it. _

_D.M._

**Malfoy,**

**I am enclosing a jar of wand polish so that you can fix up your ALLEGEDLY scratched wand and then go fuck yourself with it. Not literally; I’m almost positive that’s not an approved use of a wand, and it also seems like a fairly risky thing to do.**

**Ah, yes, the tides of public opinion have turned against me again! I’m heartbroken, really. I’ve never had to deal with negative press before; I have no idea how I’ll manage.**

**So what do you plan to do with your newfound freedom?**

**HP**

_Potter,_

_The wand most certainly was scratched. No allegations. And if you wanted the satisfaction of making me polish my wand, there are less barbaric ways of getting me to do so. _

_I am sure you will find some way to manage. You’ll be The Saviour again in a few weeks, no doubt._

_I am not sure what I am going to do yet. Freedom is a new thing for me, really._

_D.M._

**Malfoy,**

**God, I hope not. I’ve had enough being “The Saviour” for roughly eight thousand lifetimes. It is a boring, boring job and extremely overrated. Also, the pay is shit.**

**I don’t even know where to START with your other comment. Get your mind out of the gutter! I thought Malfoys were supposed to be all prim and proper or something. Surely they don’t stoop to references to their wanking habits?**

**I’ve heard they might let what would have been this year’s graduating class go back to Hogwarts to finish up, but I don’t know if I’ll go. Hermione would probably smack me upside the head for saying that, but she’s currently out of the country, so I can be as open about my lack of academic ambition as I want. I might just try to nap for a year or two. Can wizards hibernate?**

**HP**

_Potter,_

_If I am not mistaken, aren't you rather wealthy? Do you really need a high-paying job? I would think that the sheer Gryffindor-ness of being a constant saviour of mankind would be all the pay you’d need._

_Though it does sound tiring._

_I heard about the school opening up for those that did not get to finish their N.E.W.T.s. Honestly, I’d like to go, but I very highly doubt that any parents would appreciate my being there. It may be best to just move on._

_Also, I was merely speaking about wand repair, Potter. Interesting where your mind went, though. I thought Gryffindors were chivalrous?_

_D.M._

**Malfoy,**

**Excuse you, I’m chivalrous as fuck. In fact, I’ve been told (in less than admiring tones) that the whole “saving people thing” is one of my defining characteristics. So there. Also, you ABSOLUTELY were making less-than-subtle insinuations, you liar.**

**It would be weird going back to Hogwarts anyway. I just can’t imagine going back to being treated like children at this point; can you? “Congratulations on that war you just fought; your curfew is 10 o’clock, and there’s no magic in the corridors.” ~~Also, the idea of eating in the room where I saw~~**

**You know, it’s been seven years, and I still can’t wrap my head around the idea of having money. I guess I don’t need to have a job at all; do I? Maybe I really WILL hibernate. Maybe I’ll become a man of leisure. I don’t even know if I know what leisure MEANS. What do people do with downtime?**

**HP**

_Harry "Chivalrous as Fuck" Potter,_

_Would I ever lie about anything?_

_It would be strange. To go back, that is. I am certain that the professors would be quite lax when it came to you and the rules; most of them owe you their lives. I can't really see McGonagall giving you lines for taking a walk after hours. Perhaps returning students will be given certain leniencies, seeing as they will technically be adults._

_I can't imagine that it would be easy for you to go back after everything that happened. I doubt that anyone, except perhaps Granger, would judge you too harshly for choosing not to go. You might find it pleasant to be able to create a few new memories there, though, if you did return._

_I can speak from experience when I say that it can be very hard to be somewhere where such awful things happened. I have been home for nearly two weeks, and I haven’t been able to bring myself to step foot into the Manor proper. Instead, I've moved into what used to be a guesthouse meant for a groundskeeper. It isn’t ideal, but it’s far enough away from the main estate that I don't have to look at it._

_I imagine that as a man of leisure you could consider traveling, perhaps. Maybe join a fantasy Quidditch league. Start a strange and eccentric collection of ludicrously expensive, large-eyed, creepy porcelain house elf figurines to unnerve guests whenever they do happen to stop in. Set them up in a single room: dozens upon dozens of dead-eyed figurines. Refuse to conduct interviews in any other room. See how long it takes for journalists to stop asking._

_Myself? I have simply been drinking a lot. I might be drinking at this very moment. That is always an option as well._

_Draco_

**Draco,**

**Drinking! Yes! Drinking is great; I’ve been doing rather a lot of that myself the past few days. Between funerals, anyway. Merlin, there are so many funerals. I don’t even feel like I’m properly there for them anymore at this point. Does it make me a bad person that I’m starting to find them boring? I think it does. But they’re all the same, you know? So-and-so was an amazing person, taken too young, will be missed, etcetera. The first few times I felt like I was getting stabbed in the chest (especially for Fred’s and Lupin’s -- did you know they’d died? Fred Weasley and Professor Lupin? The war casualty lists were long; I don’t know if you read them. I did. Quite a few times, actually. I don’t know why. I just, I had to, you know?), but after a while, it’s just… numb.**

**ANYWAY! Who needs figurines of house elves when you’ve got a whole wall covered in the heads of ACTUAL house elves? Oh, yes, you heard me right, sir. Actual. House elf. Heads. Taxidermied (I assume? I hope? Do wizards have taxidermy, or are there spells for that? Probably spells, now that I think about it.) and mounted on the wall like trophies. Kreacher tells me it’s an honour. I tell him it’s creepy and I want to take them down, but then he starts muttering at me again about disrespecting the Noble House of Black and I let it go and drink some more until they go a bit blurry.**

**Oh, yes, speaking of horrifying memories in the places we live, that’s where I’m living now! The old Black house! It’s hideous and full of dark magic and Sirius HATED it here, so, of course, he left it to me because that’s what family does, right? Leave you with their baggage and fuck off to let you wallow in it? But Merlin knows I don’t ever want to see the Dursleys again, and the Burrow is right depressing these days (see above re: Fred), and also, living with your ex-girlfriend and her family is a bit of a rubbish option when it comes down to it. So! Here I am, with my good friends, the stuffed house elf heads, drinking down the Black family liquor stores. If nothing else, at least they kept those well stocked!**

**This has gone extremely depressing, and I half think I shouldn’t even send it, but what the hell? It’s not like I have to watch you judge me to my face.**

**Cheers from afar,**

**Harry**

_Harry,_

_For Merlin's sake, that was a lot to unpack. I would ask if you are okay over there, but that’s a stupid question. Of course, you aren’t. None of us are._

_I haven't been to any of the funerals. Not for lack of wanting to, but because I almost certainly would not be a welcome face there. I can only imagine attending so many that they become monotonous. I did know that Fred Weasley and Professor Lupin had died. I have read through the casualty lists. Professor Lupin's wife was my cousin. We were never close, of course, but I recognized the name. I know she was part of your lot._

_I also know they had a son. The Dark Lord made a point of it. Do you know what happened to him?_

_Your house sounds terrifying, Potter. I would assume the heads are under some sort of (rather disturbing) preservation charm. I imagine that a well-placed Incendio would do them some good. You can tell the elf that it was a cleaning charm gone wrong. You’re a rubbish wizard anyway; I’m sure he would believe you._

_Going back to a previous conversation: helpful reminder that you are quite wealthy. Why not get a flat instead of milling about in that depressing house? (I am fully aware that this is the cauldron calling the kettle black in this instance.) You could also renovate the place — fresh coat of paint, sweep the trauma under the rugs. _

_Ex-girlfriend? I would have assumed that you and the she-Weasel would be picking out wedding colours by now._

_Know that while you do not have to see my face, I am definitely judging you. Always._

_If you ever wanted to be judged in person, or if you wanted some assistance smuggling stuffed elf heads out of your home, I think our plans are somewhat aligned for the summer._

_Draco_

**Draco,**

**I have burned the house elf heads. It DID NOT go well. I’ll spare you the details other than to say it involved a LOT of screaming from a crazed portrait, several extremely unpleasant curses (whose effects I think I’ve mostly reversed?), and some minor flooding. Long story short, Kreacher is no longer speaking to me (he does, however, speak ABOUT me, loudly and at length, whenever we cross paths), and I’m now having to cook my own food. I blame you for all of this.**

**Of course, you’re judging. You wouldn’t be YOU if you didn’t. Judging is at least 80% of the Draco Malfoy brand.**

**Tonks and Lupin’s son is called Teddy. He’s currently living with his grandmother, Andromeda, whom I suppose is technically your aunt. I try to visit them every few days, but I can’t bring myself to stay around too long. I’m a bit rubbish at dealing with everyone else’s mourning. I might have mentioned that. Teddy’s my godson, though, and I want to be there for him as much as possible as he gets older. I don’t want his life to be like mine was. I mean, I know he’s not going to get left on the doorstep of people who resent his existence and lock him in a cupboard, so he’s up a few points there, but still. I’d like to be family to him. I’m glad Andromeda is around, though, because I doubt I’d make a very good parental figure just yet. Not sure how many steps above “abusive arseholes” that “unemployed teen who hasn’t finished school” falls, but I doubt it’s many!**

**Ginny and I… I don’t know. It was complicated. She didn’t like that I left her behind when I went with Ron and Hermione to ~~hunt for~~ ~~finish the~~ do what we needed to kill Voldemort. Which, fair enough. Ginny hates being treated like she’s less than capable. It wasn’t what I meant to do, but I get it. But also, I guess I never really expected to live this long when it came down to it? And I’m just not ready to think about the rest of my life with someone yet, and I know that’s where it would end up. People in the Wizarding world get married SO YOUNG; it’s so bizarre to me. My parents had me when they were TWENTY. In the muggle world, kids are mostly still off at uni at that age. I don’t know. It’s a lot of pressure, and I can’t think about it right now.**

**Would you _want_ to come cause more wreckage in this monster of a house with me? Would that be weird? It’s gotten so easy to talk to you by owl, but we’ve never ACTUALLY spent any time together without trying to curse or punch each other, except for those times that we’ve saved each other’s lives, which I honestly could do without repeating. Also, you may remember that I’m rubbish at talking to people in person. Like, really, really bad at it. But, I dunno, if you wanted to, come by. Could be cool if we didn’t murder each other.**

**Harry**

_Harry,_

_I am glad to hear that you took care of your inordinately creepy house decorations. I am, however, almost slightly worried about that 'mostly' when referring to your counter-curses. That seems like the sort of thing that should have some certainty about it._

_Also, whoops, sorry about your estrangement with what sounds like a perfectly charming house elf. I do hope you manage to feed yourself. Are you any good at cooking? I have always been rubbish at it, to be perfectly honest. I think I would probably just slowly waste away without the house elves._

_Judging is actually a solid seventy-five percent of my brand. It is also fifteen percent rotten life choices, and the other ten is simply hair product._

_I am actually rather glad to hear that your godson is doing well. My family always said that Aunt Andromeda was a disgrace and a blight on the Black family name, so I reckon he is likely in good hands and will turn out at least halfway decent._

_Also, a cupboard? Is that a metaphor? I surely hope it is. _

_I can understand not wanting to settle so early. Adult life is complicated and messy without adding all of that on top of it. I’ve never bothered to put much thought toward what I am supposed to do regarding relationships or otherwise. My parents always had the whole of my life planned for me; there was really nothing to do but follow their instructions. I've technically been engaged since I was ten, and it is the furthest thing from what I want._

_Perhaps now that my father is in Azkaban, I might not have to follow through. Mother has always been slightly more willing to take my own desires into consideration. And, who knows, she may end up in a cell next to him anyway._

_I would not be entirely opposed to seeing your scary house and judging you by it. While you may be terrible at talking, I have always been rather adept at talking to others. At great length, whether they want me to or not. Though, I suppose that I can attempt to be a bit less of a twat about it for a short stint. Honestly, awkward silence (or even getting punched in the face and/or murdered) might be preferable to Malfoy Manor for a few hours._

_Let me know when you are free. I will see if I can fit it into my schedule._

_Draco_

**Draco,**

**Sorry, you’ve been engaged since you were TEN?! What the actual fuck? I can’t even wrap my head around that. It obviously sounds like you don’t want anything to do with it, so can you just… not? Is it, like, a magically binding contract or anything like that? (My experience with those in the past has been less than ideal.)**

**Andromeda is great. Maybe someday you can meet her. Probably not yet, but, you know, when things are a bit calmer.**

**Speaking of families, I’ve already talked to ~~Kingsley~~ the Minister about your mother. He knows I’m planning to speak on her behalf, so it should be a little less… dramatic?... than it was at your trial. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but she did lie to Voldemort and save my life, so there’s a chance she won’t end up in Azkaban. I’ll do what I can.**

**I can cook, although the circumstances which led to that particular skill are less than ideal, so I prefer not to if I can avoid it. I do a decent fry up, however, so despite my ongoing battle of wills with my live-in “help,” I have yet to starve to death.**

**Those circumstances are not far off from those which led to my first Hogwarts letter being addressed to “Mr. H. Potter, The Cupboard Under the Stairs.” I still have it, if you don’t believe me. I’m actually still curious how they knew that to put it on the letter…**

**My week is pretty open if you do want to come by. Maybe Thursday or Friday afternoon? Let me know what works. I’ll find more creepy shit for us to burn. When in fear of awkward silences, light something on fire, I always say. (Remind me to tell you about the time Hermione lit Snape’s robes on fire ON PURPOSE our first year. Never got caught, either. That girl’s reputation as a goody two-shoes is SERIOUSLY misleading.)**

**Harry**

So it happened that on Friday afternoon — he did not want to appear too eager — Draco Malfoy managed to clean himself up to the point where he looked rather presentable and made his way to the address scribbled at the bottom of the letter he’d received to confirm the date and time of their meeting. He stood on the sidewalk with a black package under his arm and watched as Number Twelve materialized between Eleven and Thirteen, shifting into reality unbeknownst to the Muggles who lived on either side of the towering dwelling.

He did his best to keep his expression flat and neutral as the walkway appeared before him, and he made his way to the door, the gravel crunching beneath his boots as he walked. The stoic expression served to help hide the nerves he felt at the idea of any kind of human interaction, particularly with Potter.

Life had been less than easy since the trial. Even though he was more or less a free man, it did not stop the world from hating him. Nearly every interaction he had with Wizardkind was met with cold acceptance at the very best; venom, and even violence, at the worst. He could only hope that this one might prove to be slightly more pleasant — though he did not allow himself to get his hopes up too far.

The blond took a breath as he raised his hand to rap at the door with his knuckles before taking one last opportunity to smooth down the front of his black suit.

Harry jolted when he heard the knock, despite having been anticipating it. _Why am I so NERVOUS_? he berated himself. _It’s only Malfoy._ Except, that was it, wasn’t it? Over weeks of correspondence, Malfoy had become Draco, and Draco had become someone who knew more about Harry’s post-war life than just about anyone. With Hermione in Australia, Ron and Harry were lacking the catalyst necessary to force them to confront their own demons together. They were there for each other, of course, but it was a silent sort of support. Harry and Ron had never been much for heart-to-hearts; their brief exchange following Malfoy’s trial had been one of the few breaks in their unspoken agreement not to discuss their war trauma.

And everyone else –- well, Harry couldn’t bring himself to burden them with his own pain when they were all grieving and mourning and celebrating in turn. He’d hoped that after Voldemort fell, he’d be free of their expectations, but it had been a naïve dream more than an actual hope. He was their figurehead, their mascot. The Boy Who Lived turned Saviour of the Wizarding World.

Enter Draco Malfoy, who had always known that Harry’s fame was undeserved, who Harry hadn’t bothered to pretend for (because why would he?), who had treated Harry just the same as always, with snark and vitriol. And who had, by doing so, given Harry the freedom to be _Harry_ again.

Harry shook himself to dispel his nervous thoughts and ran his fingers through his unruly hair one last time in a vain attempt to look even slightly presentable before giving it up for a lost cause. After one slow breath in and out, he opened the door.

“Hey,” he greeted as the door swung back, attempting to sound casual and not completely freaked out as he took in the stiff, stoic boy waiting on the other side.

When the door swung open to reveal the always somewhat disheveled Gryffindor with his hair looking as windswept as if he had just gotten off of a broom, Draco could not help but think that he looked just the same as always. His awkward stance and devil-may-care appearance were exactly the same as he remembered from the scrawny git at school.

Yet, Harry Potter was not a scrawny git anymore. He was an adult, a war veteran. It took the Slytherin a moment to find where that lived, but it was certainly there, visible in the boy's absinthe green eyes and the dark circles under them — an accessory that matched his own.

He nodded his head once and replied, "Hullo, Potter." With his greeting accomplished, Draco took a moment to take in the outside of the house and the surrounding garden, which was somehow both dead and overgrown. He glanced back to the other boy with a raised brow and a slight smirk as he replied in a somewhat bored sounding drawl, "Are you going to invite me into your creepy house, or are we just spending the whole of our afternoon in your desolate and depressing garden?"

Harry smirked back, feeling more at ease as Malfoy unleashed his trademark snark, albeit in what felt like a less antagonistic manner than had characterized their school days.

“This isn’t a desolate and depressing garden, Malfoy. If you want to see a REALLY desolate and depressing garden, you’ll have to come through to the back. The trees there would make the Whomping Willow cower. But, for now, please, come on in to my horrifying and potentially haunted home!” He gestured grandly as he moved back from the door, ushering Malfoy into the hall.

Malfoy could not help but chuckle as he stepped through the threshold and into the dank and dimly lit hallway, almost immediately bumping into what appeared to be an actual troll leg converted into an umbrella stand. Even just from the entryway, the place had a definite 'could potentially actually be haunted' feel to it.

He had anticipated that it was going to be bad from the description in Harry's letters, but this was incredibly bleak. Then, something happened that he had not anticipated in the slightest: a whisper from down the hall that called out, " _Severus?"_

Almost instantly after the word was spoken, an angry spectre in the image of Albus Dumbledore soared toward him through the hallway, crashing into him as he let out a shout that was quickly silenced as his tongue rolled up inside his mouth. When his tongue has unfurled, Malfoy was left wide-eyed and shaking, all of his stoic pretense dropped as he managed to ask, " _W-what the bloody hell was that_?"

“Shit, fuck, sorry!” Harry panicked, “Draco, I’m so sorry. Shit. No one comes here anymore, and I’m so used to it, I forgot. FUCK. The Order used this place as their headquarters for awhile, and they set that up after Dumbledore died to make sure Snape couldn’t get back in, because we didn’t know…” he trailed off, looking helpless.

Draco took up a lean against the wall, one hand pressed over his racing heart as he looked at the other and nervously laughed, "That happens every time you walk in the door? Potter, your house is not creepy — it is fucking terrifying. Might I suggest just getting a doorbell? I might pass out."

“If I got a doorbell, Walburga would never shut up,” Harry grimaced. “Speaking of which…”

Right on cue, from behind a heavy velvet curtain, a muffled shrieking diatribe could be heard gaining steam.

“FILTH! BLOOD TRAITOR! STAIN ON THE HOUSE OF BLACK!”

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. “Sorry, just a sec,” he said to Draco, turning and swiftly drawing back the curtain to reveal a portrait of a decrepit old woman, face red with screaming.

“Shut it, Mrs. Black. I’ve got company, and I’m not above painting over your face,” he threatened. Her eyes bulged in fury, but her lips slammed tightly shut. “Malfoy,” Harry gestured, “meet Walburga Black. She’s probably some sort of relative of yours, but you’d know better than me what the connection is. She had herself mounted with a permanent sticking charm, so she pretty much just hangs out here, harassing anyone who wanders by. Lovely woman.”

Malfoy's eyes widened at the sudden shrieking. Truly, Potter's home was full of surprises and knew how to make guests feel welcome right away. He stepped forward, once he had recovered, and gave a nod. "My great aunt, yes. She was always spoken of very highly in my family, though I was very young when she died. I never got the pleasure of meeting her, at least that I can remember."

He glanced at the portrait and mused, with no small level of sarcasm, "Such a lovely house, Auntie."

Harry tried to cover a snort of laughter with a cough as Walburga’s eyes widened even further in outrage, but she wisely kept her mouth shut, the threat of being painted over evidently still fresh in her mind. “Right then!” he said, pulling the curtain shut again. “Would you like the tour, or would you prefer to go straight to the kitchen? It’s the least terrifying room I’ve got, at the moment, and I could make some tea. Or if it’s late enough in the day for you, I could introduce you to the Black family liquor cabinet, I suppose. It’s much friendlier than Walburga.”

"A tour of this house sounds perfectly dreadful, Potter," Draco said with a smirk before adding, "I have not even made it past the foyer, and I am already mortified. If it were a competition between who had the more horrible house, I think you have won. Suddenly, the Manor proper does not seem so bad after all."

The Slytherin extended the black box in his hand and said, "I definitely think we have earned a drink. I brought you a bottle of firewhiskey to add to your stores, but I think after that reception it would be perfectly acceptable to open it now."

“Cheers to that,” Harry replied, breaking into a full grin. “C’mon, kitchen’s this way; I’ll grab some glasses, and we can drink away the nightmare that is my home.” He detoured into the front room briefly to retrieve two tumblers from the bar before leading Draco through the hallway and down the few steps to the cozy wood and stone kitchen. A fire was blazing in the fireplace, and despite the ongoing feud with Kreacher, the pots and pans hanging from hooks on the walls gleamed and the honeyed wood top of the thick slab table glowed in the firelight.

“Thanks for this,” Harry said as he opened the box and took out the bottle of firewhiskey, using a spell to pop the cork out before pouring them each a generous two fingers-worth. He handed one glass to Draco, tipping the edge of his own toward the other boy, clinking it against the other glass in a toast.

“So, welcome to my nightmare palace! Any ideas where the fuck I would start on making it livable, other than burning it to the ground?” He took a sip of the whiskey, humming happily at the feeling of it burning pleasantly down the back of his throat.

As Draco stepped into the perfectly cozy kitchen, he actually stopped in his tracks to take in the sight. It was a stark contrast from the foyer, to say the least. While it certainly had a bit of a rustic charm that was not his own aesthetic, it was actually a cute little kitchen. He stepped forward after just a moment, taking the glass offered to him with a delicate grip, letting it click softly against the rim of Harry's before mirroring his movement and taking a large sip of it.

The blond made a bit of a sour face and took in a sharp inhale of breath against the burn of the whiskey as he set the cup down on the counter and looked back up to the other. With a chuckle, he mused, "Well, if we are taking fire out of our options, I am left with very few ideas."

After a moment, he added, "Though, honestly, if you got some lighter colors in the foyer and got rid of that horrible umbrella stand and the ghost, it would help a lot. I'd have to see the rest of the house, but if that wall with the portrait is not load-bearing you could just remove the whole wall and open up the space. Though, I suppose that depends on what is on the other side."

“Good question. I honestly have no idea,” Harry mused. “I mean, technically, I assume that side is next to Number 11, but I think there might be a closet or something between them? I’d have to check. I don’t actually spend too much time on that side of the house; I’m usually in the kitchen or my bedroom when I’m home.” He took another sip of whiskey. “The rest makes sense, although I honestly have no fucking clue how to get rid of the… whatever you’d call that dust Dumbledore thing. I’m pretty sure Mad-Eye and Lupin made it, and, well.” He shrugged uncomfortably.

Draco hummed thoughtfully as he brought his glass back up to his lips, pondering for a moment before continuing, "Well, you could always knock out the wall anyway and replace it if there is nothing to open up to. And as far as the Dumbledore thing, I am sure that between the two of us we can figure out how to dispel it with some trial and error. Maybe after enough of this whiskey, I won't even be terrified at the thought of doing so."

Harry grinned. “Alcohol, home renovation, and experimental spellwork. What could possibly go wrong?”

Two hours and most of the bottle of firewhiskey later, Draco and Harry sat side by side on the floor of the front hall, looking distinctly worse for the wear. Draco’s usually pristine hair was a disheveled mess with streaks of soot and bits of what might have been plaster scattered through it. One of the lenses of Harry’s glasses was cracked, leaving a spiderwebbed pattern over most of his right eye. Both of them were spotted with various singe marks and odd holes and slashes in their clothes (except for Draco’s jacket, which was neatly folded over a railing). There were telltale signs of several explosions on the burnt remains of the wall and part of the hall ceiling; Walburga was hanging at an odd angle and cursing up a storm; and the dusty Dumbledore apparition was frozen at the far end of the hallway, twirling like a ballerina.

“So,” Harry said, pushing his broken glasses up his nose, “that went well.”

Draco brought one hand up to smooth out his hair, which truthfully only served to make it even messier than it was before, completely at a loss of what to even try next. At the Gryffindor's words, he looked over to him with a raised brow, though any intimidation factor that the look might have held was completely dispelled by the soot he had just managed to rub across his face.

"We made progress, Potter," Malfoy challenged with a raised finger. He then gestured to the hallway and added, "Dumbledore is no longer screaming down the hallway, and we got the picture to move. It hasn't moved _far_ , but it has moved."

The blond lifted his wand once again, not bothering to get up from where he sat on the floor and gave it another flick. The result of the counter-curse was another chunk of the wall flying toward them, which he hastily blocked with a shield charm. Heaving a sigh, Draco admitted, "Alright, perhaps _progress_ is not the right word for what has happened here."

Harry gazed around himself thoughtfully. “I dunno,” he pondered, feigning sincerity. “It might be growing on me.” Then, unable to keep a straight face any longer, he started to laugh.

As Harry began to look around the small space, Draco mimicked the motion, taking in the wreckage that they had caused in such a short span of time. It was, if anything, worse than before.Yet, at the sound of the Gryffindor's laughter, Malfoy could not help but follow suit. Leaning his head against the wall, he found himself laughing alongside Harry.

It was not until several long moments in that he realized that this might have been the first time he had honestly laughed in over a year—and, against all probability, it was while sitting on the floor, covered in rubble and drunk next to none other than Harry Potter.

When his laughter finally subsided, he glanced over to the Gryffindor and said sincerely, "Thank you for inviting me tonight. This has been nice. Horrifying. But nice."

Harry snickered. “God, what a weird day,” he sighed. “‘Horrifying, but nice.’ That about sums it up.” He rolled his head sideways, looking at Draco. “Thanks,” he said, a smile still in his voice. “Thanks for coming over and for…” he gestured broadly toward the chaos. “This has been _bizarre_ , but probably the most fun I’ve had in…” He paused, thinking. “A really long time,” he finished after a moment. He looked back out at the room. “Merlin, what a mess.” He waved his wand at the rubble, clearing much of the debris away but not bothering with the burns or the more complex problems of the lopsided picture or the spinning former headmaster.

Draco had offered back a genuine smile, nodding his agreement at Potter's assessment of their evening. He watched as Harry cleared away what he could of the mess and replied, "The feeling is mutual. I cannot honestly even remember the last time I had fun like this — well, not exactly like this, because this has been insanity, but fun at all."

The Slytherin stood somewhat unsteadily, offering his hand down to Harry to help him up, certainly not unaware of the significance of the gesture between them due to their past. "Perhaps we could make this a somewhat regular occurrence?"

Without hesitation, Harry clasped the other boy’s hand and hauled himself to his feet. “I’d like that,” he said, realizing as he heard himself say it that he genuinely meant it. “In the meantime, maybe I’ll try to get a cursebreaker in to deal with that.” He gestured again at the twirling Dumbledore. “I’ve been trying not to bother the Weasleys, but Bill’s a cursebreaker; maybe he’ll be willing to stop by.”

Draco smiled as Harry took his hand, and when it was released, he placed both of his in his pockets as he replied, "I'd like that, too." The blond glanced into the hallway at the spectre and added, "Perhaps an actual cursebreaker _would_ be for the best. But you have to admit, he is far less intimidating this way. If it were not for the look of pure agony on his face, one might think he was actually having fun over there."

“I feel like it should be more unnerving to see Dumbledore turning pirouettes, but somehow it almost suits him,” Harry mused, watching the odd figure. Shaking his head, he turned back to Draco. “Same time next week, d’you reckon?”

Draco brought a hand up to his mouth to hide a chuckle but nodded at the other, "Same time next week sounds just fine."

The Slytherin made his way to the railing, grabbing his jacket and setting it over his arm as he made his way toward the door. He paused on the threshold for just a moment and said with a genuine smile, "See you then, Harry."

“See you then, Draco.”

**Hi Draco,**

**So I’ve contacted Bill, and it turns out removing my dancing Dumbledore WOULD have been pretty simple before we fucked with it, but now… well, apparently he’s going to have to work backwards through everything WE did before he can even start undoing what was ORIGINALLY done. So that should be fun. Especially because we were drunk enough that I can't actually TELL him what we did. Whoops? I suspect that Snape is very much enjoying this from beyond the grave. Bill’s going to help, but it’s going to take awhile. My unearned riches are finally going to good use though; I’ve bribed him to move this ahead of some of his Gringotts work. He probably would have done it anyway, but I feel less guilty about it this way. He’s going to have to lie to the goblins about it, too; they are NOT my biggest fans at the moment. Something about a dragon and property damage? I don’t know; that was months ago, I barely remember.**

**How are things on the home front? How’s your mother holding up?**

**H**

_Hello Harry,_

_I am glad to know that you were able to get a cursebreaker to agree to look at your dancing Dumbledore. And while I almost feel bad about making the problem worse… I really don't. It was fun to do, and you have the Galleons to burn on repairs, so from where I am sitting, making your cursed house far more cursed simply seems like one of those eccentric things a “man of leisure” can afford to do._

_I am absolutely positive that Severus would be quite amused at your predicament._

_I had read about your "adventure" in Gringotts. At first, I thought that it was exaggerated, but the more I thought on it, the more it seemed exactly the sort of thing that the three of you would manage to not only attempt, but live through. Now that I think about it, that might very well be where you damaged my wand. _

_Things are all right here. Mother is nervous about her trial, but she seemed somewhat relieved when I told her that you intended on making an appearance. Thank you for that, by the way. She does not deserve Azkaban. The only real crime she ever committed was allowing herself to become a doormat to my father… and general bigotry that was mostly bark without bite._

_I expect I will see you there. Perhaps you'd be interested in a pint after?_

_Draco_

**Hi Draco,**

**A pint sounds great. Would you mind if we went somewhere Muggle, though? I promise it’s not that I don’t want to be seen with you; I just really, REALLY hate being out in public right now. People have absolutely no sense of personal space, and if any more strangers touch me, I’m going to start throwing around curses and end up with my own cell in Azkaban (or room in St. Mungo’s, more likely, with a headline in the Daily Prophet about how the Saviour has finally cracked).**

**Did your mum ever take the Mark? If she didn’t, that might help her case.**

**I’m trying to think of what else I could do to build up my eccentric man of leisure status. Everything I think of seems like it’s considered normal in the Wizarding world. I considered a herd of peacocks on my front garden, but you’ve already got those, so I had to chuck the idea. Maybe I’ll get a bunch of Thestrals instead? That would freak the public out enough to get them to back off. Oh, or what about a sphinx? Instead of a riddle, I could get her to ask why the person wanted to see me, and if the answer wasn’t “I was invited,” she could eat them. Is that eccentric, or just murderous?**

**Harry**

_Harry,_

_I actually cannot believe that I am writing these words—but no, I do not mind going to a Muggle pub with you._

_I can't say that the thought of any of the local haunts sounds appealing in the slightest. Muggle sounds preferable, both to avoid you being put in a little padded room in Saint Mungo’s and to avoid a repeat of what happened last time I tried to get a drink at the Leaky. I won't go into much detail, but I will say that the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes bruise remover is quite effective._

_My mother never got a Mark, no. She was never a fully fledged Death Eater._

_In regard to your sphinx idea, I think it is really six of one, half a dozen of the other. It is a very eccentric way to murder people. Thestrals would be freaky, but only to those who could see them. The peacock idea is definitely up for grabs; all of the ones my family owned are dead at this point, so I believe we have lost the monopoly on it._

_Draco_

**Draco,**

**Well, now I feel like an ass about the peacocks. I assume something horrifying happened to them, and I think we’ve both had enough of horror this past year, so I’m not going to ask you to retell it.**

**Same goes for the Leaky Cauldron story, but if you want to talk about it, I don’t mind listening. I’m sorry that’s what things are like for you right now. I’m not surprised, unfortunately, but I am sorry. We’re all handling the end of the war in our own ways, some less helpful than others. We hurt ourselves, or we hurt each other, or we demonize or idolize or do just about anything we can other than actually think about why it all happened and what we can do differently to stop it happening all over again. It’s so fucking depressing I sometimes wonder what I even came back for.**

**God, I’m an excellent pen pal, aren’t I? No wonder you keep writing back! I’m so uplifting.**

**Harry**

**PS. Did you actually go into WWW? How did that go? Ron knows we’ve been talking, so if he was working the counter I assume it was… awkward but nonviolent? But I’m not sure if he’s told George or not, so I have no idea how that would have gone down. Hope it was okay.**

_Harry,_

_Oh, yes, the birds suffered greatly, but there is not much to tell. The Dark Lord was bored and restless. The birds were there. Now they are not._

_As far as the Leaky Cauldron goes, not many people are happy to see me walking free. But, on the other hand, if I were to fight back, I am sure it would be twisted to an assault on my part, and the Minister was quite clear that I would receive no further leniency from the Ministry. _

_I did go into the Weasleys’ shop. I knew they had the ointment. Many of the students at Hogwarts used a great deal of it last year. The Weasel was there and was willing to let me buy some, though I am quite certain he overcharged me._

_For what it’s worth, while the world is bleak and depressing, I am glad you came back. It has been nice having someone to talk to._

_I think that is enough disgusting vulnerability for one letter._

_See you at the trial._

_Draco_

**Draco,**

**I’m so sorry I had to run in the middle of the trial. Hermione’s finally got back from Australia, and I only just found out before the thing started, so I needed to take off as soon as I was done testifying to make sure she was okay. Her trip… didn’t go well. She and Ron are going to stay at my place tonight, but I wanted to make sure to let you know what was going on so that you wouldn’t think I bailed on you for no reason.**

**Can you let me know how it went as soon as you can? Can we raincheck on the pub?**

**Sorry again,**

**Harry**

_Potter,_

_Do not worry about it. It is understandable that your friends come first._

_I appreciate that you testified on my mother's behalf. She did not get sent to Azkaban. Probation and quite a few Galleons in restitution._

_Malfoy_

**Draco,**

**Dammit, don’t do that. You’re my friend, too, or at least I assumed you were at this point. It wasn’t a matter of them versus you, it’s… how do I explain this? It’s not really my story to tell; I have to ask Hermione if it’s okay to tell you what happened, but… fuck. Alright, going to go have a very awkward conversation with a friend who just went through something extremely traumatic to make you feel better, you utter prat. I can’t believe I’m doing this.**

**OKAY, I’M BACK. Incidentally, I now know what it feels like to be slapped by Hermione, but I also have permission to tell you what happened because, as she put it, “it’s not like it matters now anyway.”**

**Last year, before we took off, Hermione obliviated her parents. She knew that, as Muggles, they’d be as good as dead if they stayed in the country while she was helping me, and she knew that if they knew what was going on they wouldn’t leave her, so she wiped all memory of herself from their heads, gave them new identities, and sent them off to Australia. As soon as the war ended, she headed over to try to find them and repair their memories, but even though she found them, she can’t reverse what she did. So basically, while I was fairly sure you were going to be able to keep your mum at least, Hermione just found out that she’s lost both her parents, and she’s not getting them back.**

**So, there you have it. She needed me more than you did. I’m sorry that isn’t to your liking, but it is what it is. Hermione and Ron are as close to family as I have left, and if either of them need me, EVER, I’m going to be there for them. Now quit being stupid and reschedule drinks with me, because I really fucking need one and my face hurts.**

**Harry**

_Harry,_

_I have been staring at this parchment for a solid three hours and have come to the conclusion that there is no way to backpedal from my last letter and maintain any semblance of both grace and basic human decency._

_~~Give Granger my condo~~ _

~~_Tell her I'm sorr_ ~~

~~_I hope she's alr_ ~~

_That really is a shame._

_Hope your face is all right. She packs quite a punch, though I’m sure she was more reserved hitting you than she was me._

_I'm free any time. Just let me know when you would like to meet._

_Sorry._

_Draco_

**Draco,**

**Thank you. It’s… god. Everything is so fucked up. My parents are dead; Teddy’s are, too; Neville’s are mad; Hermione’s are gone in a way I can’t even begin to imagine; your dad’s in Azkaban; a good number of the other Slytherin’s parents are dead or in Azkaban; Ron lost his brother; Andromeda lost her husband; Sirius is gone; Dumbledore is gone; everyone is just. God. GOD. How is this… what do we do? What do we even fucking do? Everything is so fucked up, and everyone’s families are broken, and I tried so hard, and it wasn’t enough, and just… GOD. I can’t even… I can’t… this isn’t how it was supposed to go.**

**Fucking hell. Sorry. I’m… fuck. Things are not okay here.**

**H**

_Harry,_

_I don't know what to say._

_Do you want me to come over?_

_I don't know that you should be alone._

_If I do not hear back soon, I am just going to show up._

_Draco_

After a full day with the three of them together at Grimmauld Place, Ron had taken Hermione back to the flat above Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes with him, and Harry had begged off, saying he needed to take care of some things and that he would check in on them tomorrow. George was currently staying at the Burrow, so the flat was empty, and Harry figured that his two friends needed some time just the two of them. As soon as they had gone, however, Harry had proceeded to break down.

He had finally responded to Draco’s apology note, a nearly incoherent torrent of grief spilling almost unconsciously from his quill, before downing half a bottle of Ogden’s and curling up on his bed fully clothed, barely able to breathe through the pain. He wasn’t sure how much later it was when Draco’s owl dropped a short response on the bed next to him. He managed to unfold the parchment and skim it, understanding just enough to know that he didn’t need to respond. Part of him thought he should answer and say that he’d be fine, that he didn’t need company, but he didn’t have the strength or energy left to lie to himself about it, let alone pen a response. He let the parchment fall to the side before curling back into himself, trying to contain the feeling of a swarm of angry moths attempting to burst out of his ribcage, trying not to scream. The room was spinning and everything was dark and awful and he didn’t want to BE HERE anymore. He fisted his hands in his hair, pulling at the messy mane in an effort to ground himself in his body. He couldn’t breathe.

The instant that Draco had sent Archimedes out the window with his note for Potter, he ran over to the trunk he was currently living out of in the small guest house on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. He tugged on an outfit and waited beside the open window, scanning the skyline for the response for nearly an hour, his foot tapping anxiously.

When there was no sign of a returning owl, the Slytherin pushed himself out of his chair and grabbed his cloak, dashing out the door and along the twisting paths of the Manor's gardens and out the front gate, where he wasted no time in turning on his heel and disapparating on the spot, reappearing a moment later on the curb of Harry's home. He could not help the nervousness that gripped his stomach as he dashed up to the door and knocked loudly.

The note that Harry had sent to him had been beyond alarming. He could not blame the boy for having a mental break; he had been through more than any person should ever be asked to deal with. His life had been riddled with misery and death; many people would have given up long before now.

Draco set his jaw firmly and knocked again with enough force that it made his arm ache as some of the words in Harry's previous notes surfaced in his mind, _'It’s so fucking depressing I sometimes wonder what I even came back for.'_ He had been stupid not to take the cries for help seriously.

The blond drew out his wand to unlock the door before tugging it open and dashing inside. He ignored the sudden outcries of insults from the portrait of his great aunt, which still hung askew on the wall. Draco lifted his wand again as the door shut behind him, and he called out, "Homenum Revelio!"

The spell indicated to him the presence of another in the building, and he followed the pull of the magic up several flights of stairs and to a closed door. Draco swallowed thickly as he pushed the door open, peeking inside and asking, "Potter?"

Through the screams of the dying and the recriminations of the dead and the blame of the survivors echoing through his head, Harry heard another voice, hesitant. “Potter?” That wasn’t right. That wasn’t… Harry curled tighter and let out a pained whimper. His nails dug into his scalp.

It did not take more than a second for the pale blond to catch sight of the Gryffindor, curled up tightly on the bed and clearly in the throes of one hell of a panic attack. Draco slipped into the room and quickly made his way over to the bed. He was not sure how far gone the other boy was, but he knew that he might be making a mistake as he tentatively reached out a hand to grasp Potter's arm and said, "Harry, please look at me."

Harry gasped as he felt a hand on his arm, cringing at the contact. “I can’t,” he choked out, clenching his fingers tighter and burying his face in his elbows. The words broke something in him. “I _can’t_ ,” he repeated, his voice desperate, and suddenly there were hot tears searing down his cheeks, smearing his arms where they pressed tight against face. His body began to shake as he futilely tried to hold in the sobs that wracked his lungs.

Malfoy hated the way that those sobs made his heart feel like it was in a vice. He hated seeing Potter so broken, and he hated everyone who had steered the once strong and brave boy — the epitome of a Gryffindor — to this point. He hated himself for being among that number.

The Slytherin shifted his hand to try to stop Harry from digging into his scalp and softly said, "It is okay to not be okay. I am going to be here with you through this. You don't have to be strong right now."

Harry’s fingers clung desperately to the hand that was suddenly on his. He held on with everything he had, sobbing silently, feeling his body close in on itself like his heart was a black hole sucking in everything in its vicinity. _You don’t have to be strong right now_. The words made their way into his chaotic thoughts, and he clung to them like he clung to the hand.

“Please,” he gasped, trying to calm his breathing between sobs. “Please, I can’t, I _can’t.”_ He found himself tugging the hand, and thus the arm attached to it, around himself.

Draco felt himself being pulled and offered no resistance, relieved that Harry had at least stopped hurting himself in that moment. He slid onto the bed beside the other boy, allowing his arm to be tucked around him. While there was the very distinct possibility that this would lead to an awkward conversation between them when Potter once again had control of his mental faculties, Draco slipped his other arm beneath Harry, between his neck and shoulder, wrapping him in a proper hug from behind.

The blond gently rested his cheek against the boy's shoulder blade and quietly replied as he tightened his grip, "I know, Harry. You don't have to do anything right now. Just try to breathe."

Harry curled into the other boy’s embrace, trying desperately to get his breathing under control. Deep, shaking breaths were interspersed with sobs as he attempted to make his lungs function normally. The warm body at his back helped ground him, his body beginning to make sense again. Slowly, so slowly, he felt himself begin to calm. He still felt wretched — skin tight and stinging from salty tears, nose stuffed, chest sore, scalp burning where he’d abused it — but the disconnection from himself, the sensation of drowning in despair, had begun to retreat.

As reason returned, Harry became more conscious of Draco holding tightly onto him. He thought perhaps he ought to be embarrassed — at having dragged the boy into his bed, at falling apart so completely in front of any other person, let alone Draco Malfoy — but all he could feel was relieved and exhausted. He loosened one of his hands’ grip on Draco’s arm to wipe his face.

“Fuck,” he finally spoke, his voice thick and rough with crying. “I’m sorry, that was… I’m sorry.” Another small sob escaped him, but he tried to breathe through it before it turned into another sobbing fit. “FUCK. I’m such a mess; what is wrong with me?” This last bit was quiet, intended mostly for himself. When had he finally broken so thoroughly?

Draco had remained silent, simply maintaining his firm grip on the other as Potter sobbed, and finally, after a long and agonizing amount of time in which he actually felt his heart breaking for the boy, quieted and managed some semblance of control. When the Gryffindor released his grip, Draco did not move his arm away, instead settling it on Potter's chest as he wiped away his tears.

He lifted his head slightly as Harry spoke, settling his chin on the boy's shoulder, unsure of how to respond to the apology or question for several beats. The slightest of smirks pulled at the corner of his lips as he finally replied, "Would you like the list alphabetically or in the order which I noticed them? Either way, we are going to be here for awhile, so you will want to make yourself comfortable."

Harry let out a startled laugh and buried his head in the tangle of his own and Draco’s arms. “Merlin, I’m a train wreck, aren’t I?” He allowed himself to turn his head slightly, until his cheek leant against the bicep of Draco’s lower arm. He rested that way for a moment, letting the other boy’s even breathing guide his own. “Go on then,” he said, amused and tired. “Let’s hear it.”

The laugh instantly made Draco's smile widen a bit, glad that his joke had landed on the mark and served its purpose. When prompted, he cleared his throat and replied, "Don't mind if I do. Might as well, since I have you as a captive audience and this has been a long time coming."

The Slytherin tightened his grip slightly and turned his head to look down at the other, his cheek pressed against the boy's shoulder as he mused, "You are aggravating, a bit of a bastard; you are courageous to a fault, depressing beyond belief."

Malfoy could not help but grin wider as he continued, "You are emotionally inept. Hmm. You got a good one for 'F', Potter?"

Harry chuckled wetly. “I can’t believe you’re actually ALPHABETICALLY listing my faults, you absolutely ridiculous arsehole.” He turned his head even further until his eyes were buried in Draco’s elbow. “Ugh. ‘F’ is for fucking pathetic.” He was quiet for a moment. Finally, “thank you,” he whispered.

Draco hummed thoughtfully for a moment before replying, "No, the _'fucking'_ is just sentence flavour. It isn't the trait. We can save 'pathetic' for p. Fatiguing, though. You are certainly that." After another beat, he added quietly, "You are welcome. I can only imagine how hard your life is to live. No one could go through all of that and come out totally put together on the other side."

Harry sighed softly. “It’s so much worse than you know,” he confessed quietly. “It’s so much worse than anyone knows.” He paused, pondering, and then took the plunge. “They raised me to die, you know. Dumbledore, and then Snape. They knew it…” He closed his eyes for strength, even though he knew Draco couldn’t see his face. “They knew the only way Voldemort could die would be if I did first. And so they — HE, Dumbledore; Snape was actually horrified when he first found out — Dumbledore made sure I was just strong enough, just ready enough, just _prepared enough_ to survive until the right moment, so that I could willingly go to my death, for the greater good.” He took another shaky breath. “And I did. All those people died along the way, to save me or because of my mistakes or just by pure, _stupid_ bad luck that put them near me at the wrong time, and it was all for nothing because the entire time I was intended to die anyway.” He shuddered. “And yet, here I am. How am I supposed to live with that?”

Draco tensed for a moment at the mention of the Dark Lord's name — a knee jerk reaction — but he remained quiet as he listened to Harry speak, a strange and defensive anger growing in the pit of his stomach with every word. When Harry had finally finished, Draco replied with more venom than he had intended, "First off, Dumbledore may have had the greater good in mind, but it sounds like he was really a complete sociopath. Adults who are willing to use children as pawns in their sick and twisted, utterly demented plans for gain and glory can sod off in my opinion. And Snape, he was a right abusive bastard. I do not care what side of the war he was on or where his loyalties were or what he may have done at the end; it does not stop the fact that he took sick pleasure out of being a total arse to children."

The Slytherin took a breath before adding, "Many people died, many that were close to you, but not one of those was ever really your fault. You cannot help that the Dark Lord came to Godric's Hollow that night, and you can't help that the bastard adults in your life painted a target on your back. How I suggest living with that is to be _happy_ , just to fucking spite them."

Embarrassingly, Harry felt his eyes filling with tears again. “I thought he cared about me,” he confessed. “I still can’t quite… ugh, it’s all so fucked up.” He ran a hand down his face again, trying to stop the tears before they could fall. “Be happy,” he mused. “It’s been awhile.” He chuckled. “Reckon it could be fun.”

Carefully, Harry turned in Draco’s arms until he was facing the other boy. “Is this okay?” he asked hesitantly. “Sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Fuck, we’re just finally figuring out how to be friends, and suddenly, I’m relying on you to hold all the pieces together.”

Malfoy had pursed his lips at the statement about Dumbledore, ready to begin ranting about the man again, but his words got caught in his throat as Harry turned to face him. The redness in his eyes from crying only served to make the emerald even more vivid and vibrant. He was suddenly acutely aware of how close they actually were, but he found that it was not nearly as awkward and uncomfortable as he had imagined it would be.

"It's fine," Draco replied softly, and he adjusted his hand to rest comfortably on Potter's back. "Stranger things have happened, and I am kind of a wonderful friend, as you would have learned clear back in first year, if you had not so _rudely_ shot me down. Plus, I haven't given anyone a proper hug since you were hauling my sorry arse out of the Room of Requirement on the back of your broom. While I usually limit it to one hug a year per person, I think this is an acceptable exception."

Harry rested his forehead against Draco’s shoulder and laughed. “Yeah, such a pity that I couldn’t see past your being a snobby prat to the first friend I’d ever made; how narrow-minded of me,” he smirked. “Well, if this is my last hug for the year, I’m going to hold on for just a bit longer if you don’t mind. Wouldn’t want to waste it. Hugs are valuable currency.”

Draco chuckled and gave a one-shouldered shrug as he replied, "He laughed at my name. I got defensive. Granted, I was perfectly wretched, and the things I said were a bit worse than a laugh… and then I quite nearly had Crabbe and Goyle pummel the both of you for me. But still. _He laughed at me_. I can't imagine why you wouldn't have wanted to be my friend after that."

The blond shifted his arm that was beneath the other boy to allow his hand to come up to rest on the back of Harry's head and began to card his fingers through the raven locks as he added, "You can hold on as long as you like. I just traveled halfway across the country in the middle of the night to check on you; might as well get a decent hug out of the deal."

Harry hummed sleepily, the fingers in his hair calming and relaxing him. “You really are a good friend, Draco,” he murmured, his voice serious. “Thank you for coming.” And then, even more quietly, almost inaudible,“Thank you for caring.” They stayed curled like that, Draco’s fingers carding rhythmically through Harry’s hair, and eventually, without meaning to, Harry drifted off to sleep.

Under his breath, Draco had mumbled something about 'slander' at Harry's softly spoken comment but did not make any move to pull away, simply holding onto the other as he drifted to sleep. The Slytherin waited several minutes until Harry's breath had evened out before carefully and gently picking up the boy's glasses from where they had been discarded on the bed and moving to set them safely on the end table. He gently shifted a blanket to cover the Gryffindor comfortably before slipping his wand out of his pocket and softly whispering, "Nox."

Harry woke several hours later to the mid-morning light streaming through his bedroom window. Feeling disoriented, he looked around blurrily for his glasses, finding them neatly settled on his nightstand. Sliding them onto his face, Harry sat up, only to register that he was still fully dressed beneath his blanket. Slowly, the previous night began to come back to him. He waited for embarrassment to kick in at his breakdown and subsequent clinginess, but instead he found that he felt… lighter. Talking to Draco, and crying until he hurt (he winced a bit at the soreness in his abdomen), had been cathartic in a way he hadn’t experienced in longer than he could remember. He also hadn’t been held like that in… well… ever, when he thought about it. It had made him feel safe and cared for, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel awkward about it.

Rolling out of bed, Harry made his way to the hall. “Draco?” he called, unsure if the other boy was still around.

It only took a moment or two for the Slytherin's voice to reply to the call. He had never been a very heavy sleeper and had found that the moment the sun had begun to peek through the windows, he was awake, with no chance of getting back to sleep. It had taken a great deal of care and delicate maneuvering to extract himself from the python-like grip of the other boy without waking him. Once he had managed it, the blond quietly made his way to the kitchen, putting on a kettle of water for tea — exhausting the entirety of his cooking skills in doing so.

He was leaning on the counter where he and Harry had consumed most of the bottle of whiskey he had brought over that first night here, idly stirring the sugar into his tea as he pondered how bizarre the world was that he could have ended up here, falling asleep with _and cuddling_ Harry Potter. The sound of the Gryffindor's voice pulled him out of his pensive thoughts, and he called back, "Kitchen."

Harry slumped groggily down the stairs. “Hey,” he smiled drowsily at the other boy as he reached the doorway, running a hand through his sleep-disheveled hair. “I’m glad you stayed. I wanted to say thanks, again, when I was actually conscious. I really appreciate your checking up on me.”

Draco straightened his back as Harry entered the kitchen and addressed him. He had not bothered yet to try to put himself together for the day and his own, typically pristine hair was sticking up at odd angles as he replied with a still-sleepy smile, "Hullo."

As the Gryffindor spoke, Malfoy grabbed a second cup of tea he had made and placed under a warming charm. He extended it out to the other and added, "It's not a huge deal. I'm sure you would have done the same." He paused at the words, not actually knowing if they were true. If he had been the one to break last night, would Harry have come rushing to Malfoy Manor to see him through it? A small hopeful flutter in his chest told him that he would have, but honestly he was unsure. It was just as likely that he would have spent the night crying himself to sleep. It wouldn't be the first time.

The blond cleared his throat softly and continued on in a voice that was slightly too quick to be casual, "I don't know how you take your tea, so there's no cream or sugar in it. But… here."

Harry accepted the cup and took a sip of the warm liquid with a grateful groan. “Thank you. I’m useless in the mornings.” He sipped again before continuing, “and it is a big deal. Maybe not to you, but…” He shrugged. “It means a lot to me.”

Turning away from the other boy, whom he couldn’t help thinking looked endearingly disheveled with his messy hair and yesterday’s clothes (a thought he refused to analyze this early in the morning), Harry set down his cup of tea and went about collecting ingredients for breakfast. As he heated a pan and cracked eggs into a bowl, Harry spoke, keeping his back to Draco. “Can I ask you a question?”

Draco smiled at the reception of the tea, an odd feeling in his stomach at the groan that had passed from Harry's lips. He returned to resting his arms on the counter as Harry turned away from him. He sipped his tea, which was incredibly sweet due to the way he had distractedly spooned far too much sugar into it, and quietly watched as the other boy puttered about the kitchen, getting things together for a meal.

At the question the Slytherin looked up, a brow raised curiously at Harry's back. He replied in a quiet and cautious tone, "You can ask me anything you like. Though, whether or not I provide an answer you like remains to be seen."

Harry smirked, watching his hands as he added cream to the eggs and whisked them into a fluffy liquid. “Fair enough. I’ve just been wondering, when did you change so much? I know you know you were a giant prat through most of school. You’re so different now. In your letters, you made it clear that you’re not super fond of your dad these days. Last night, you came down hard on Snape, who you used to really obviously idolize. And you seem to actually care about other people now -- me, but also, you actually had kind words for Hermione when I told you about her parents. A few years ago, you would have gloated about everything we’re going through. I know living with Voldemort was horrible, but is that what changed your mind on things?”

He set his whisk down and looked over at Draco, leaning his hip against the counter. “I’m not judging… well, okay, I’m judging younger you, but you always knew that… I just want to understand you better.”

Draco's eyes fell back down to the cup of tea in his hands, his stomach twisting uncomfortably at the question. It was a fair one. He knew that he had been awful in school. No one had been surprised when he had taken the path he had, but it was true that he did not feel the same about anything anymore.

He let out a soft sigh and said, "I don't know that a few scratched out lines counts as having kind words for someone." The blond stirred his tea idly, the spoon softly clinking on the china as he quietly continued, "They made me torture people, Harry. They tortured me. I watched a woman get killed on my dining table and eaten by a snake. I have seen countless people murdered in my garden. I had to hold my classmates captive… that kind of stuff changes a person."

Harry turned back to the stovetop, pouring eggs into the pan to scramble and setting some bread to toast. “So the reality of what was involved in aiming for blood purity made you rethink how you felt about it?”

Draco worried at his bottom lip for a moment with his teeth as he thought about the answer to that question. After a few beats, he managed quietly, "When I was little, my father used to tell me stories about our noble and proud heritage. How our blood held pure magic in it. How our ancestors had fought for the right to live freely in a world in which they were hunted and hated. He told me that because of our money, our looks, our blood, we were better than _the rabble_ that sought to erase our heritage from history _._ I was raised with this idealistic viewpoint that we were doing something important by keeping our blood pure and by maintaining tradition. I was raised to believe that. And I did believe it for a long time."

The Slytherin straightened himself up a bit, running one hand through his hair as he continued, "And I do think, still, that magical history is important. To know our roots and where we came from. I think that it would be a great travesty for ancient traditions, families and everything that they went through to create the magical world to be forgotten entirely. But what Pure Blood had become, what it still is in many senses, is not a celebration of our roots and the creation of a grand society. Instead, it is a method to subjugate and marginalize and to do great harm. I have come to realize that the ideals that were held, to maintain and protect our history, had been warped into something that was… evil. Pure, unadulterated evil. At the end of the day, you, Granger, all of them, they bleed the same color I do. I've had to wash enough of it off my hands to know that for certain."

Harry quietly absorbed Draco’s offering as he plated their breakfast and brought it over to the heavy wooden table. Finally, he looked up and met the other boy’s eyes.

“Thank you,” he said with sincerity. “It isn’t easy, having to unlearn things that you always thought were true.” He gestured for Draco to sit and eat, sitting down and taking a bite of toast as he thought about how to frame his next thought. Swallowing, he went on, “I don’t think you’re wrong, about wizarding culture and tradition being worth preserving. It’s just… all cultures deserve that, you know? It’s the valuing of one type of person over other types where things start to get fucked up. I was raised by about the shittiest Muggles you could dream up, but that doesn’t mean all Muggles are that way. I can hate them for _who_ they are without hating them for _what_ they are.” He paused. “Incidentally, I _really_ hate the arseholes who raised me. Horrid people.” He grinned at Draco, hoping to break the tension of the heavy conversation.

Draco sat down in the chair that Harry had indicated for him, but he did not make any move to begin eating the food that the Gryffindor had dished up for him. Instead, he listened quietly, his eyes trained on the table between them until Harry had finished speaking, at which point he glanced up with a half smile.

"They really do sound awful." He paused for a moment, worrying at his lip before adding, "But I have learned that Muggles are not so bad, really… Mother and I can't shop in Diagon anymore. Not that we aren't allowed, but we are certainly unwelcome, and I would like to buy food without being assaulted. There are Muggle stores we have started shopping at. The grocery is run by a kind, older Muggle couple that have been very welcoming... I am trying to shift my mindset. To unlearn things. It is hard… and I still have horrible thoughts — knee jerk reactions. But I have been trying to catch myself doing it and trying to react the exact in the opposite way to what I would have before."

Harry gave Draco a soft smile. “It’s a start. I’m glad that you’re trying.” He cleared his throat and pointed at the blond with a triangle of toast, raising an eyebrow at him. “Now eat your breakfast; cold eggs are disgusting.”

The boys maintained a comfortable quiet as they finished their food, Harry getting up mid-meal to refill their tea. As he floated the empty dishes to the sink a little while later, Harry wondered what to do next. If he was honest with himself, he’d like Draco to stay, but at the same time, he didn’t want him to feel like he couldn’t leave. Draco had come over to help him through a breakdown, not to casually spend the day, and he didn’t want him to feel coerced into staying in case Harry still wasn’t okay. On the other hand, he’d been pretty mad when Harry had cancelled plans before; that had to mean he wanted to spend time together, right?

“So,” he finally said, feeling awkward, “What have you got up for the rest of the day?”

Malfoy looked up at the question, finishing the rest of his tea before he gave a shrug and replied softly, "I can't say that I have much going on, even if I would like to pretend that I still have a full social calendar." The Slytherin paused for a few moments before asking just as awkwardly, "What about you? I imagine you will need to be checking in with Weasel and Granger, yeah?"

“Honestly? They only _finally_ sort of got together during the actual final battle, and then Hermione took off for Australia almost straight afterwards, so I was going to give them a little alone time.” Harry wrinkled his nose, trying not to think too much about just why they needed alone time. “I’ll owl them to see if they need anything, but I was planning to pretend to have important things going on so they wouldn’t feel like they had to come back over here.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “I thought maybe I’d go wander around in Muggle London for a bit, just to get out for a while. You’re welcome to join me if you want? You don’t have to, obviously, but… if you wanted.”

Harry grimaced at himself. “Sorry, I haven’t had a new friend since I was fifteen, and that was Luna, who doesn’t really go about friendship in the same way as other people. Also, I only ever saw people socially during school, so I don’t actually know how to ask someone if they want to hang out in a way that isn’t painfully awkward, and I have no idea why I keep telling you things like that, so I’m gonna go do _literally anything else_ but stand here babbling!” Harry was bright red by this time and hurried over to the sink, planning to manually wash the dishes just to distract himself. He’d woken up so calm; why the fuck had he suddenly turned into the walking embodiment of socially inept?

The Slytherin had given a chuckle at the initial statement about Weasley and Granger, choosing not to comment on it himself — letting Potter's facial expressions do the talking for both of them. At the offer to go explore Muggle London, he tilted his head to the side as he considered, but soon found himself leaning forward, his elbow against the table and his chin resting in his palm, a grin spreading across his face as he watched Harry slowly spiral.

When the Gryffindor turned away from him, flustered and nervous, Draco stood and made his way over to the sink to stand beside Harry, bumping into him lightly with his shoulder and replying with a smirk, "We can go to London today, Potter. Want some help? I've never done dishes by hand before."

“Purebloods,” Harry grumbled, feigning annoyance, but pleased both at Draco’s acceptance of his offer and at his willingness to try something so un-wizardly. “Come on then; I’ll show you how to do household chores like a Muggle, and then we can go explore.”

A few hours later found the two boys meandering toward the entrance to the British Museum. Draco has insisted on apparating home to shower and change beforehand; when he reappeared, he was once again looking pristine, not a single hair out of place and in a black suit with a silver undershirt that matched his grey eyes. He had taken so long that it was coming up on noon by the time they’d arrived. Harry had picked the museum on a whim, thinking it might be fun to let Draco absorb a bit of Muggle history, but as they entered the Great Court, a sign caught his eye.

“Hey, they do a proper afternoon tea here!” He exclaimed enthusiastically. “As long as we stick around until three anyway. Would you want to? It’s a bit stupid, but I’ve never actually had one, and I always wanted to. My aunt would host them for her friends sometimes, but I was never allowed to stay around; I had to stay in my cupboard, or she’d send me to the neighbors. I always wanted to try all the little cakes and things, though.”

Draco had been busy looking around at the extravagant architectural design, not bothering to mask that he was impressed by the Muggle building. At Harry's exclamation, he turned to the boy with a raised brow and asked incredulously, "You have never had a proper afternoon tea? You poor, neglected child." He glanced toward the sign and gave a shrug, "I mean, I am certain this will be far less grand than the ones my mother used to put on… but we sort of have to at this point, I think."

“I doubt anything anywhere is as grand as your childhood,” Harry replied with a smirk, but he still happily made his way up the winding stairs to the host stand and made a reservation for three o’clock tea. When he returned to the floor level to meet Draco, he clapped his hands together. “Right! Where do you want to start? Old stuff, older stuff, or REALLY old stuff?” He grabbed a brochure containing a map from a stand, dramatically unfolded it, and handed it to his companion.

Malfoy took the map delicately and looked it over with interest, humming under his breath as he did so. After a moment, he moved to stand next to Harry to show him the map as well and pointed to the paper. "This ancient world bit looks like it may be worth looking at. We could start over there and then move 'round to the other side after. That part goes upstairs and exits out right by the restaurant."

Glancing at a large clock on the wall Draco added, "We've got two and a half hours. Should be plenty of time, barring anything utterly mad happening… although since I am out with _you,_ it just might."

Harry was acutely aware of the blond as he moved in close beside him to show him his proposed route on the map. The previous night had been the longest amount of time he’d ever spent in physical contact with another person, and he couldn’t seem to shake his heightened awareness of the other boy’s presence. Thankfully, Draco’s taunt about mad things happening around him was enough to distract him from having to examine this development too closely.

“Excuse me, it’s been… well, at least a month since anything truly mad has happened around me, thanks,” he responded with feigned outrage. “I think I can make it through a museum just fine.” This proved true for at least the first few galleries the pair wandered through. Harry had always found history to be on the dry side, but something about seeing the actual objects that people had interacted with in their everyday lives made it more tangible to him, and he found himself stopping to read the panels of information with more and more interest as they wound their way through the glass cabinets of artifacts.

Draco had wandered through the museum at Harry's side, sticking quite close to him among the sea of Muggles who were also perusing the displays. He spent quite some time at each, fully reading every single text and plaque that was displayed, providing the history of the non-magic world, all of which was quite new to him.

They stopped at a display of ancient Greek artifacts and the Slytherin looked at the beautiful marble carvings, so detailed that they might have been life turned to stone. He looked to the other boy and said firmly, "I do not believe this was done without magic." At the statement, the Slytherin also threw a wink towards a young muggle girl who had heard him and looked up at him with wide eyes and an excited smile.

“Draco!” Harry hissed, but he was smiling. “People are going to think you’re insane if you say stuff like that.”

"Me, insane?" Draco replied back in a loud and playfully incredulous tone, "I'm not the one that lobbed off some poor woman's arms and then transfigured her into marble. This… Alexandros of Antioch, _who is most certainly a deranged wizard_ , is the insane one."

“Shut up!” Harry laughed, moving close to Draco and clapping a hand over his smiling mouth. “You’re going to break the Statute if you keep going on like that!” He could feel Draco smirking behind his hand, his silvery eyes twinkling with mischief. Harry found himself grinning and unthinkingly grabbed the other boy’s hand with his own free one before uncovering his mouth. “Come on, you prat,” he said fondly, turning to tug the boy toward the next statue.

He could still hear Draco laughing behind him when he was blinded by a sudden flash, and a horrifyingly familiar voice sounded full of malicious glee.

“Well, well, isn’t _this_ an interesting development!” came the decidedly unwelcome greeting of Rita Skeeter, tailed by her ever-present photographer, whose camera was still at his eye. Harry felt his heart sink right down to his scuffed sneakers. _Fuck_.

Draco had felt his stomach do a strange sort of somersault as Harry had gotten close enough to him to cover his mouth, a feeling that doubled, a pink blush tinting his pale cheeks when the boy grabbed his hand. The sudden flash of a familiar camera came before he had any time to process any of this.

Rita was in her trademark lime green dress, which was startling enough among the rather drab attire of the Muggles around them, but the large purple puff of smoke from the photographer's camera definitely brought many unwelcome eyes glancing their direction. At least she had the sense to not have her Quick Quotes Quill out.

“Are you following me?!” Harry demanded angrily, his fingers clenching around Draco’s hand.

“Of course,” Rita replied, unperturbed. “You’re a public figure, Harry. The people have a right to know.”

“A right to know WHAT, exactly? What I do in my free time? Who my friends are?”

“Friends, is it?” Rita asked, raising a disbelieving eyebrow and looking pointedly at Harry and Draco’s still-joined hands. Harry flushed and glared, but pointedly didn’t loosen his grip. It wasn’t like this wasn’t going to be splashed on the front page of the Prophet anyway; he’d be damned if he made Draco feel rejected on top of everything.

“I just. Want. To go about my life.” Harry ground out through gritted teeth. “I have already given the Wizarding world my parents, my mentors, the first seventeen years of my life, and my death. YOU do not get any more of me. What I do now is none of your business. Leave me alone.”

“Oh, but it is certainly our business if you’re striking up a romance with a Death Eater,” Rita crowed. “Star-crossed lovers? The lure of the forbidden? Harry Potter, our fallen Saviour, seduced by a homosexual Dark Wizard? This is front page material if I’ve ever seen it.”

In his mind's eye, Draco Malfoy could already imagine the stacks of Howlers and hate mail he would be receiving in the upcoming weeks after Rita Skeeter's story hit the front page — and he had no doubt it would.

While 'homosexual Dark Wizard' was not the worst thing he had been called in the past few months, he could not pretend that he was looking forward to this conversation with his mother, though otherwise he found that it barely even stung. What did sting, however, was the agony in Potter's every syllable — the pain and anguish there, which Rita seemed to be reveling in.

Draco stepped forward, maintaining his own grip on Potter's hand, and replied to the witch in a cool and even tone, "Ms. Skeeter. While I am sure that nothing that either of us say will be able to dissuade you from publishing whatever prattle you choose to write, I will say that what you are doing is beyond low. If anyone truly cared for Harry Potter, they would give him some privacy and allow him to simply live the life which he has more than earned. You should be ashamed of yourself."

The Slytherin turned his back on the reporter and looked to Harry, motioning with his chin toward the restaurant where they had put in reservations, and said as he began to pull Harry along, "Come on. We are going to be late for tea."

Harry was physically shaking as they walked away, leaving Skeeter furiously whispering with her photographer. When they’d turned the corner of a partition and were out of sight, he finally dropped Draco’s hand, freeing it so that he could cover his face while he attempted to take deep breaths, leaning against a wall for support.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he managed to get out, his muffled voice anguished. “I can’t believe she followed me to MUGGLE LONDON. Why is she such a _nosy, evil bitch?”_ His hands ran from his face up into his hair, knocking his glasses askew, as he once again tugged at the locks in an attempt to ground himself. “This is all my fault. I never think these things through; of _course,_ she’s still trailing me. And now we’re going to be all over the papers.” He tilted his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. “I hate everything so much right now I want to hit something. That’d give her a headline.”

He looked back down at Draco, sighing. “Thank you. For what you said. I’m so sorry to drag you into this. I know you’re trying to stay out of the spotlight.”

When Potter dropped his hand, Draco put both of his into his pockets and tried his best to not appear as embarrassed by this situation as he actually felt. He took up a lean on the wall next to the Gryffindor and mused with a sigh, "I believe she traded her soul for that Quick Quotes Quill, honestly."

He gave a sidelong glance at the other boy and added, "The both of us have already been all over the papers anyway. And honestly, this will likely be the best press I have gotten in quite some time. Certainly, I will get some angry letters from people who are rather _put off_ by me _seducing_ The Saviour. But it will be no worse than the hate mail I currently receive."

After a moment, the Slytherin added with a chuckle, "If you would like, we can break up at afternoon tea. You have permission to throw your drink in my face. I just ask that you wait for it to cool down before doing so. I am sure she would love pictures of that."

Harry snorted and bumped his shoulder against Draco’s. “Prat.” He gazed into the distance, eyes unfocused. “I feel like at least one of us should be freaking out that the reporter from Hell is going to tell the entire Wizarding world we’re gay, but I can’t bring myself to give a fuck.” His cheeks pinked slightly as he looked down at his feet, scuffing the toe of his sneaker across the floor. “For all I know, maybe she’s right, about me at least; I never actually had much of a chance to think about it one way or the other. I was always a little preoccupied with trying not to die, and the only people I ever dated had to throw themselves at me before I noticed they were interested.” He thought back to his first kiss with Ginny. “Literally, actually,” he laughed at himself, a quiet thing tinged with exasperation. “God, what is my LIFE?”

Draco's eyes widened in surprise for a moment at the admission, but he recovered within just a few beats and snorted with laughter as he replied, "Weasel and Granger will be so cross that I was the one you came out to. But, it only seems right, seeing as we are now dating, at least according to Skeeter and soon the whole Wizarding World."

Malfoy gave another laugh and pushed himself off the wall, pulling one hand out of his pocket and offering the Gryffindor his arm dramatically, "If you are done having a mental break, we do have a reservation, _Pookie_."

Harry rolled his eyes but took the other boy’s arm. “Sorry, _darling,_ by all means, lead the way.”

Tea turned out to be an excellent way to get the afternoon back on track. “LOOK at this!” Harry gestured, wide-eyed, at the three-tiered tea tray on which their food had been brought out. “Oooh, is that clotted cream?”

Draco could not help but chuckle at the genuine excitement that the Gryffindor was displaying at something as simple as a decent afternoon tea. The little cakes and biscuits that were brought out did look rather lovely, but Draco found himself with the desire to have his companion over to Malfoy Manor to show off a grandiose afternoon tea that he wouldn't soon forget.

He quickly dismissed the idea, however. He barely even wanted to be on the grounds of Malfoy Manor these days, let alone host a social gathering there.

The Slytherin glanced up at the question and replied with a smile that attempted to mask the dark turn his thoughts had begun to take. "It is. Try it with the scones and jam; it is quite delicious. At least from my own experiences, it is. I have never tried any that was Muggle-made before."

Harry wasted no time in preparing a scone for himself. He hummed happily as he tried it. “This is delicious! I’m so glad we did this.” As he reached for one of the small sandwiches that made up the middle tier of the elegant spread, he gestured to Draco. “So, uninvited company aside, what did you think of the museum? Did you like it?”

The blond had busied himself with spooning entirely too much sugar for a normal person into his tea as Harry had begun to sample the spread of foods that had been brought out to them. He gave a nod and replied, "It has been rather nice. By far the most impressive building full of old, non-magical stuff I have ever looked at. It was interesting reading about it all, at least." Draco reached forward to grab a vibrantly blue macaron and added, "Muggles are quite adaptive… innovative."

Harry listened thoughtfully, chewing on a bite of a cucumber sandwich. “Hmm, suppose so,” he answered once he’d swallowed. “I mean, I’m pretty rubbish at history, but it seems to me that Muggles and wizards both had to be innovative, yeah? Just in different ways. Just wait until you start learning about later Muggle technology; it can do so much of the same stuff magic can, and some stuff magic can’t even. Maybe next time we can go to the Science Museum; I went on a school trip once, before Hogwarts. It’s really cool, and it’s got all sorts of stuff we don’t have in the Wizarding world.” Wiping his fingers on his napkin, he sipped at his tea and grinned.

"That sounds like it would be fun," Draco replied almost immediately with a smile of his own. After just a moment, he chuckled and added, "Though, if we keep doing things like this, people really will think we are a couple. I'm not sure that you want that kind of press."

“God, don’t remind me,” Harry laughed, “I’m having fourth year flashbacks to when the world suddenly decided I was dating Hermione and then decided she’d dumped me for Krum while I was busy running around like an idiot trying to figure out magic three years above my grade level and bollocksing up my first crush. They’ll have you and me married off before I even have a chance to figure out if I’m straight or not!” He gave a lopsided smile. “It’s been so lovely growing up in the public eye, have I mentioned?

Draco chuckled, settling back into his chair with his tea and crossing one leg over the other as he quipped back, "I imagine that it has been delightful. Certainly the very best way to grow up and manage to be a stable adult." He took a sip of the drink and hummed thoughtfully before adding, "It doesn't matter to me. If you are straight or not. It won't make me think any less of you either way. _Not that my opinion could get much lower anyway_ , but still. Know there is at least one person that will not give you too much grief, should you decide you are not."

Harry smirked. “Kind of you, considering you’re _also_ getting outed by the press tomorrow, even if it’s not true.” He shrugged. “No, but thank you. I appreciate that. I dunno, I’m so used to getting shit over every story that comes out about me, true or not, that I’m finding it hard to care what most people think, you know? I don’t want to get mobbed by strangers no matter whether they hate me or love me, so their opinions just don’t matter. And I know my friends won’t care; Seamus was never quiet about his preferences, and no one seemed fussed one way or the other. Mind you, I’m still going to have to have some awkward conversations tomorrow if they think I’ve been hiding things.”

He gazed upward in thought. “I wonder how well ‘it didn’t even occur to me until Rita said it’ will fly? Hermione did once tell Ron he had the emotional depth of a teaspoon, so it’s not like she’s not used to us being idiots.” Suddenly, he looked back down at Draco. “Are you worried? About the things people will say?

Draco listened quietly as Harry spoke, knowing that it was likely true that his friends and acquaintances would not give a damn which way he swung. They would likely have some very strong words and opinions about the idea that Harry might be attracted to _him_. But that was because they hated him as a person, and with good cause. It would have nothing to do with sexuality, per se.

He lifted his eyes from his tea when Potter addressed him directly and gave a shrug "I don't know that it matters much what the Prophet puts out about me anymore. And I am pretty sure the 'Actual Death Eater' title is far more damaging than being called a pouf, especially when — ah. No. No, I'm not worried about it, Potter."

“Especially when?” Harry asked, tilting his head to look at his dining companion.

Malfoy sighed, setting down his tea on the table and trying his best to ignore the traitorous blush he knew was tinting his cheeks as he replied, "Especially when I _am_ gay, Potter."

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? Huh.” He sat back and contemplated the other boy. “I feel like I probably should have known that, given the amount of time I spent… ermm…” Now it was Harry’s turn to blush. “ _Being aware_ of you. Because of, you know. The rivalry. Stuff.” He let his words trail off, wishing desperately that he didn’t seem to blather every single thing that came into his mind to Draco these days. Had he always been like this and just never noticed because all that was on his mind was Voldemort and Quidditch?

Draco scoffed lightly and replied, "Yes, seriously. No straight man uses the amount of hair product I use. That should have been the first clue." He let out a sigh and went on, "And even if you spent a lot of time _being aware_ of me, it is not something I openly advertised. I mean, it is one thing I certainly did _not_ want my father to hear about, seeing as he would likely lynch me himself. Pansy, who has always been my dearest friend, knows. She was willing to pose as my girlfriend to give me cover. But I have known without a doubt since third year."

“How did you know?” Harry asked, curious. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer; it’s not really my business. I’m just… not sure how people figure out that stuff about themselves.” Then, another thought occurred to him. “Shit, that’s probably one of the reasons you’re not keen on the arranged marriage thing, huh? I mean, in addition to not having picked the girl yourself, I suppose the whole ‘girl’ thing is… not a point in its favor.”

"I would say that Astoria being a girl is a large part of why I don’t wish to marry her, yes." Draco replied as he began shredding a scone nervously with the tips of his fingers. "As far as how I knew, yes, it is not really your business. But, if you really must know, all of my friends had begun to develop crushes on what were truly beautiful girls, and I just found the whole thing repugnant. The longer I felt that way, the more I began to question why that was, and then, well."

The Slytherin let out a sigh and quickly said, "You have never had the privilege of watching _you_ play Quidditch. So, I don't know that you can level with me on that particular tipping point."

Harry’s eyes went wide with shock. “Wait, I’m sorry, WHAT? You… WHAT?! Third year?!” Suddenly, Harry started to laugh. “Oh, my god, I’m sorry; I’m not laughing at you. I mean, I am, but only because… you realized you liked how I looked when I was playing Quidditch, and your reaction was to PRETEND TO BE A DEMENTOR AND TRY TO MAKE ME FALL OFF MY BROOM?!” He cackled, gasping for breath. “Oh, my god, I’m sorry. What a disappointing childhood crush I must have been. But, in my defense, you made a real effort to make me hate you.”

The moment that Harry began to speak, and especially when he began to laugh, the embarrassed flush on Malfoy's cheeks doubled in intensity, as did his focus downward on the scone he was currently destroying. At the exclamation, which _was_ truly kind of hilarious in retrospect, Draco looked up with a half-hearted attempt at a scowl. "You are a total prat. You know that, right?"

After just a moment, he chucked lamely and added, "And it _got your attention_. Maybe not in a good way, but my efforts to make you hate me made you _aware_ of me, anyway. As Pansy always told me, I am a disaster, alright?"

Harry grinned at Malfoy. “Well, so am I, so at least we’re both in good company, yeah?”

They let the conversation move on to less weighty things, and Harry finished his tea feeling more cheerful than he had in quite a while. As they paid their bill, though, he slumped slightly, the real world beginning to creep back in.

“I really should check in with Ron and Hermione,” he said unenthusiastically. “Aside from making sure Hermione’s doing okay, I should give them a heads up about Rita so they don’t get blindsided by questions from other people about what’s going on. I doubt either of them get the Prophet anymore.” He stood up reluctantly. “I’ll write tomorrow to check in with you, yeah? See if you need help incinerating howlers or anything.”

Draco stood, straightening his jacket delicately and giving an equally reluctant nod, "I suppose I should likely have a very long overdue conversation with my mother as well. I am absolutely going to let Pansy be blindsided by it. That will honestly be the highlight of my day, I think."

He glanced toward the exit but did not start to move in that direction as he added, "I will watch for your owl. Well, my owl. I think Archimedes is still at your house… I am sure I will be able to handle all the hate mail. The Howlers are not so bad if you set them all off at once, I have found… also, thank you for today. It has been fun, all things considered."

Harry smiled and began walking them both toward the exit. “It really has.”

**Draco,**

**Sorry for keeping Archimedes so long. I know I should get a new owl of my own soon, but it feels wrong. Like I’m betraying Hedwig. Stupid, right?**

**Hope you haven’t had a terrible number of Howlers. Hermione helped me set up an automatic mail filtering spell so that only letters from people I know can get through. Handy thing. Would’ve been useful to have something like it at Hogwarts, but I guess it’s tied into the Fidelius on the house somehow? I tend to drift a bit when Hermione talks magic theory.**

**Speaking of Hermione, have you ever had your sexual orientation explained at you by someone else? Because I HAVE NOW HAD THAT PLEASURE. Apparently I’m bisexual, and it’s always been very obvious, and she assumed I’d tell her in my own time, and what do I MEAN I didn’t even know that was a thing? So, on the plus side, I’ve provided a great distraction from the thing with her parents, but on the minus side, I apparently fancied Cedric Diggory like mad fourth year and everyone knew. And also had some other very obvious crushes on boys, but she won’t tell me on who. So. That actually explains a lot, but also, people should really stop assuming I’ll work things out on my own because it just never goes that way.**

**Otherwise, things are okay. I won’t lie; people aren’t PLEASED that I’m hanging out with you, but for once they’ve decided to trust my judgement (I guess I got extra trust points for the whole Voldemort thing? I’m not going to complain!), so no one whose opinion I care about is causing a fuss. All in all, could be worse. Let me know how things are going over there?**

**Harry**

_Pookie,_

_It is not a problem about Archimedes. You are one of the very few people I write to these days, and there are more owls in our owlery. It’s not stupid about your owl. You can use Archimedes whenever you need him._

_A filter spell does sound quite handy. I have found it somewhat cathartic setting off the Howlers by hand, personally. A lot of them use the same insults, but every once in a while I open one that is particularly creative. Though, one of them was also full of Bubotuber pus. That was not particularly fun. (I'm fine.)_

_That was quite kind of her to tell you what your sexuality is. Though, I feel that perhaps you should not just take this one at face value, and instead might attempt just the smallest bit of self reflection here. Make sure that it feels right before you just accept what someone else is telling you. This could also lead you to possibly come to your own conclusions about the blokes you have fancied. _

_But, to her point about Diggory… who didn't fancy Cedric Diggory in our fourth year? _

_I am not surprised that no one is pleased that you are associating with me. I have kind of earned that reaction._

_Things are fine here. I mean, mother keeps crying and refuses to be in the same room as me. But I have my hate mail to keep me company. Plus a steady stream of owls from Pansy asking for “intimate details.”_

_Hope you are well._

_Draco_

_P.S. I know you don't get the Prophet, but the pictures were actually pretty adorable. I got an extra copy and cut them out for you._

_Enjoy._

**My Dearest Darling,**

**I am banning pet names. They remind me of the ridiculous things my aunt used to call my cousin. “Dinky Diddydums” was a favorite.**

**His friends called him “Big D,” which I just… need to not think about, frankly. Shudder.**

**WHY would you ask me, Harry James Potter, to self reflect? Don’t you know me AT ALL? Honestly, my feelings are hurt. I did it anyway because I guess it was time, and I have come to the conclusion that, for possibly the first time in her life, Hermione was wrong about something. I am not bisexual; I am Quidditchsexual. This came to me after several hours of thinking through the people who I paid an inordinate amount of attention to during school and/or sought the attention of. Cho Chang? Quidditch. Ginny? Quidditch. Cedric? Quidditch, and you’re right, anyone who says they weren’t attracted to him is just lying. Oliver Wood? Quidditch was basically his entire personality. And OKAY MAYBE I spent a lot of time watching you play and more or less lost interest in the sport when you stopped showing up sixth year. I tell you this ONLY because you told me about third year, and if you gloat, fair warning, I will not hesitate to hex you. I know much more creative things than bubotuber pus, the amateurs. Also, I was the founding investor in Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, so George owes me favors.**

**I hate to say you’re right about two things in one letter, but you’re right, the pictures are pretty cute. We look… happy. It’s nice; most Prophet photos of me look like I’m desperately trying to get out of frame (mostly because I am).**

**I’m sorry about your mum. I hope she’ll come around soon.**

**Pookie**

_Pookie,_

_I refuse to accept your ban on pet-names. I shall attempt to refrain from anything too painful, however._

_The Quidditchsexual thing actually makes a lot of sense. Granted, it is still probably classifiable as bisexuality, but with a Quidditch kink. Also, Oliver Wood is a decent choice. That boy was fit. Unfortunately, the Slytherin Quidditch team… very few people on it were worth any post-Quidditch fantasies._

_I will try not to gloat. Much._

_Though, I will say that if I had not been such an absolute twat and you had not been so utterly oblivious, we could have been quite the power couple at Hogwarts. We now have pictures to prove that we would make an adorable pair._

_Mother will come around eventually, I think. She did agree that I should not have to go through with the arranged marriage — though she did also make a point of letting me know how financially beneficial it would be for our family if I did it anyway._

_Draco_

**Schmoopy,**

**The heads of everyone who went to school with us just exploded at the idea of us as a couple. Want to know how I know? Because the mail has started coming, and OH, IT IS AN ADVENTURE. I actually expected more backlash against it being you (sorry, but… you know), but apparently most people could tell your heart wasn’t terribly in it seventh year and don’t hate you as much as you probably think they do. Ironically, that mostly seems to be adults, many who didn’t even FIGHT in the war, the hypocritical wankers. The adults of the wizarding world are, on the whole, a real let down. Molly Weasley is honestly the only adult whose opinion I care about who is upset, but although she isn’t a fan of yours, I think it’s more to do with the fact that she still hoped I’d marry Ginny. Now she’s starting to mention Charlie in conversation a lot, and THAT was certainly a plot twist I didn’t see coming. I tried to tell her that 1) I’m bi and 2) we aren’t actually dating, but she’s Molly, so she only hears about a third of the things I say.**

**Some choice excerpts from mail I have gotten:**

**From Neville: “I support you no matter what, but are you sure? You didn’t like each other very much in school”**

**From Seamus: “I fucking knew it!!”**

**From Ginny: “I FUCKING KNEW IT; DEAN OWES ME TEN QUID” (this was NOT THE REACTION I EXPECTED, LET ME TELL YOU)**

**From Dean: “Dammit, Harry, now I owe Ginny ten quid! Also, your taste in men is terrible; if you’re gay, just date Seamus!”**

**From Luna: Honestly, it was a little hard to follow, but I think she was happy for us? She sent this for you. I’m… not sure what it is.**

**Ron and Hermione have come back to stay with me for a few days, and I think that this whole thing has helped lift both of their moods rather a lot. Ron told me that he didn’t think Quidditchsexual was a thing, to which Hermione sort of coughed “Krum” under her breath, and Ron turned a quite impressive shade of red before mumbling something about “respecting him as an athlete,” and I laughed so hard I almost choked.**

**Yay for an out from your proposed child marriage! Tell your mum that if she’s short on cash, she could consider selling the rights to burn everything that Voldemort ever touched in your home. I feel like that would earn quite a bit of cash.**

**Harry**

_Snookums,_

_Schmoopy? What the hell kind of pet name is that, Potter? Come on. You can do better._

_I also got a few choice letters from various classmates. Not many Slytherins are very keen on the idea, but overall there has been less vitriol than I anticipated. Blaise has said that if I do not choose him as best man for our wedding, then he is going to steal you from me. So, be prepared for that. Pansy's letters are rather noteworthy… but also not containing things that one should say in polite conversation, so I will refrain._

_Charlie Weasley, hm? That’s the one that trains dragons, if I am not mistaken? Not a terrible choice, if you are planning on going forth and dating men._

_The thing that Luna sent on was actually a charm for a necklace. Usually, witches give them to brides for good luck; I guess she decided which one of us is the bottom._

_And yes, no more arranged marriage. I did have a conversation with Astoria, and she was actually equally relieved about it. She has been 'dating someone behind my back' for years and had been rather sad that she would not be able to be with him long term._

_As far as my mother is concerned, we are fine money-wise. Certainly not nearly as wealthy as we once were, due to the restitution that she had to pay, but she will have enough to live comfortably. I, on the other hand, may actually have to get a job. I shudder at the thought. _

_Definitely let me know how things go with Charlie. I may have to play the role of heartbroken queen for the public afterward._

_Draco_

**Dear Sweetums,**

**I can’t believe that you didn’t like your new pet name! I am HEARTBROKEN.**

**I am also not going to DATE CHARLIE WEASLEY. Merlin. For one thing, dating another Weasley just feels weird and incestuous. For another, he is seven years older than us, which might not be a problem if we were older, but since I won’t even be 18 for another six weeks, I think that I would honestly judge him for being interested in me.**

**Astoria (I assume this is your now ex-fiancée) was cheating on you?! I am horrified. I should send her a Howler.**

**Luna is a gem of a witch, and I am so glad that I have her in my life. That is all I have to say on that.**

**What kind of job do you think you would want? I’m still leaning toward man of leisure. I mean, not really, I don’t actually want to be a weird hermit; I just don’t want to be an Auror anymore, and that’s all I ever really thought of before, so I’m at a bit of a loss now. I thought about Quidditch, but now I’m starting to think I was considering it for the wrong reasons…**

**Are we on to hang out on Friday, or were weekly meet-ups rescheduled when I had a massive breakdown and you had to show up in the middle of the night and take care of me?**

**Harry**

_Darling Bunny-boo,_

_Sorry to break your heart. Schmoopy is just… not good. Sweetums I can absolutely live with._

_Well, at least I know that I don’t have to worry about a rugged dragon trainer sweeping you off your feet while I am not looking. I'd have been devastated, surely._

_Yes, it turns out that I was being cheated on. I can't find it in me to be bothered much by it. I suspect she likely got enough grief just from having it on record that she was supposed to be my wife; I think we should perhaps not send her any Howlers about it._

_Luna is actually rather wonderful. When she was ~~held captive~~ staying at the Manor she was always quite kind to me whenever I would bring down food and things. I always tried to smuggle extra for her and Dean. The others as well, but the goblin and Olivander were not quite as thankful for it as our classmates were. _

_I'm not sure what I’ll do as a profession. I am honestly unsure if I could even get hired anywhere. Though, I suppose there is a chance that some potential employers thinking that you might be madly in love with me could help my cause there. I have always been rather good with potions; perhaps I can find something to put that to use._

_I had still intended to meet up Friday. We can count the late night rescue, cuddle session, and then being outed to the world a bonus._

_Draco_

**Honey Bear,**

**Okay, but were you ACTUALLY good at potions, or did Snape just favor you and give you good scores because he liked to screw over the other houses by giving his own bonus points? I seem to remember him MORE THAN ONCE docking Hermione points for knowing the answer to something. (I am joking about the “you actually being good” part. I know you were. That doesn’t make any of the rest a lie though!)**

**I thought about asking Hermione about what she thought I should do, but then I imagined the pile of pamphlets and books she would probably show up with and decided I should try to figure it out on my own first. God, maybe I should go back to Hogwarts after all. At least then I’d have another year to sort it out before I became a washed up ex-hero without a job.**

**FINE, I will not harass your sort-of-ex. You take all of the fun out of life sometimes. You keep talking about reality in your arguments; it’s just not on.**

**Looking forward to Friday! Did you want to go out somewhere or just come here? The Dumble-disaster is finally gone, so maybe we could try some of your other home renovation ideas. I think you said something about lighter colors. Want to help me paint? Friends help each other with boring physical labor, right? I can bribe you with alcohol.**

**Harry**

_Baby-cakes,_

_Excuse you, I am excellent at potions. I was excellent in all my classes. You may not have noticed, but other than Granger, I was top of our class, thank you very much. If I had not been so caught up with being an arrogant prick, I could have been a bonafide nerd. _

_But, yes, Snape did show favouritism. Really twisted and toxic favouritism._

_The closer it gets to the start of term, the more tempted I am to go back as well. The headmistress did write to me to let me know that I would be welcome to come back, should I choose to. Even if I don't go, it means quite a bit that McGonagall would write to me about it. And at this rate, with our classmates’ general attitudes, it may be a welcome change from the constant harassment I have received over the summer._

_I imagine that Granger would be somewhat overwhelming when it came to helping you choose your life's path. She is rather... exuberant. Maybe taking the year at Hogwarts would be a good opportunity for you to sort out possibilities for yourself._

_I am looking forward to Friday as well. I'd be happy to help you paint. Not that I know how or have ever done it before or can promise any kind of quality, but — even if I am a disaster with it — your house could not get much worse. I will bring over some take away when I stop in._

_Draco._

Despite it only being the third time the other boy had been to Grimmauld Place, Harry found that it felt almost natural to have him there now. Their frequent snarky letters with their scattered interludes of confessions and honesty had left him feeling like they had been friends for much longer than the almost-two-months since they’d starting writing. He opened the door to Malfoy’s knock with a smile and a “Hey!” before stepping aside to let him in.

Draco smiled back widely as the door swung open for him and Potter beamed at him from the other side. He replied quite chipperly, "Hullo, Pookie."

With a chuckle, the Slytherin stepped inside the building, relieved when there was no screaming Dumbledore there to greet him. It really did help with the overall charm of the place to have that gone.

Once he was inside, he made his way to the kitchen, feeling quite at home, and set down the plastic bag he had brought with him. "I brought some curry with me. I do not know if you _like_ curry, and if you do, I am not sure how much spice you can handle, so I got a variety of things."

Harry scowled at the nickname and stuck his tongue out at Malfoy. However, at the mention of curry, his face quickly lit up.

“Ooh, I love curry,” he responded enthusiastically, “and I’m fine with spice, but I can eat mild, too. Honestly, I love most food? Underfed children are MUCH less picky, I think.” He pulled two plates out of the cupboard and some forks and serving utensils from a drawer. “Just make yourself up a plate, and I’ll take whatever you don’t. What do you want to drink? I feel like firewhiskey with spicy curry would be overkill, but I’ve got some lager that I picked up when Ron was over, and there’s a bunch of wine in the cellar. You’d probably have to look at that yourself though; I don’t know much past ‘white’ or ‘red.’”

Draco gave a chuckle at the response and mused, "I got plenty for you to have some of everything. Probably leftovers, too. I must have seemed very indecisive at that restaurant." He took a moment to think about the choice of drink and finally answered with a wry grin, "I would not mind some wine… but… is there anything terrifying in your wine cellar that I should be aware of before I go into it?"

Harry grimaced. “I really wish that wasn’t such a fair question, but, no, I think you should be good unless Kreacher pops up unexpectedly. Which, you know, he might. He’s fun like that. I’m happy to come down with you just in case anything is unexpectedly cursed, though. I can’t help with wine, but I’m good with defensive magic at least.”

The response brought a snort of laughter from the Slytherin, who teased lightly, "Ah, my hero." He began walking toward the cellar, adding, "I think I will manage. Go ahead and dish up. I will be back, barring any unfortunate circumstances or scary surprises in your terror palace."

“Scream if you need me,” Harry returned and grabbed a plate for himself, beginning to serve up a little of each dish to try. He placed his plate at the end of the table, setting out the silverware for them both before grabbing two glasses and spelling them full of water while he waited for Draco to return. Then he remembered why Draco had left in the first place and darted to the front parlour, which housed the bar, to find some wine glasses.

The wine cellar of Grimmauld Place was dark and quite full of spiderwebs, the latter of which Draco took care of with a few well-placed cleaning charms. Overall, it helped with the creepy factor quite a bit. The Slytherin then spent a few minutes perusing the vast stores of wine, many of which were older than even the oldest residing in the Malfoy cellars. He ended up settling on a German Riesling that he thought would likely pair well with the curry they were having and made his way back up to the main kitchen.

"I am actually rather impressed with your collection," he admitted as he entered the kitchen, pointing his wand at the bottle to clear it of dust before setting it down and breaking the wax seal. "If I didn't know better, I would think you were quite the connoisseur."

Harry laughed. “I suppose someone here was, at some point. Like I said though: red or white. That’s all I’ve got!” He handed the wine glasses to Draco and took his seat. “Maybe I’ll make you teach me sometime, at least well enough that I can fake it for guests,” he teased.

Draco chuckled back as he poured them each a glass, "Well, to start, I chose a German Riesling, which tends to be rather dry when compared to most other Rieslings. It should be good with the spice and vivid flavours of the curry. You don't want to have anything too sweet or you will drown out the flavours of the food."

He handed his companion the glass with a smile, "There is your first lesson."

Harry grinned. “Cheers, mate. And thanks for bringing food.” As they dug in, Harry continued to chat between bites. “So, I got painting supplies, but I’ve only ever painted the Muggle way. Are you opposed to this getting a bit messy?” He thought back to their last attempt at home improvement. “I mean, honestly, it might be l _ess_ of a mess than last time, now that I think on it.”

Malfoy had immediately dug into the spiciest of the curries that he had purchased, chatting happily with the Gryffindor as they ate. At the proposal of painting, he considered. "I think that I will be all right with a little bit of mess as long as we do not get too crazy about it. I was about ready to retire this shirt anyway; it is very last season."

Harry looked at the, as always, well-dressed blond and smirked. “Why don’t I loan you something to wear instead? I still have a lot of hand-me-down clothes from Dudley, so I’m not exactly attached to them. You can get as much paint on them as you want. In fact, I encourage it!”

"I think that entirely depends on what these clothes look like," Draco replied with a raised brow. "I have standards, after all. Even if I end up covered in paint, I’d still like to have a flattering silhouette."

Harry grinned, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Well, why I don’t I grab something for you to try, and you can see for yourself?” After they finished their dinner, he deposited their empty plates in the sink, picked up his recently refilled wine glass, and gestured for Draco to follow him down the hall and up the narrow staircase. He led the way to the open door of his bedroom, heading to his large chest of drawers, setting his wine atop it and bending to pull out the bottom drawer. Rifling through the pile of clean but worn clothes, he pulled out a pair of tired old blue jeans and a size XXL purple “Smeltings Wrestling” t-shirt, holding them up for Draco’s assessment.

Draco followed the other boy through the house, pausing when they entered Harry's room and he began to rummage for some clothes. Draco set down his own wine and shrugged out of his jacket, laying it down on Harry's quilt before sitting down on the edge of the bed to look over the clothes.

He let out a sigh and said, "I can probably make those trousers work." With a grin, he added, "That purple is likely to clash with my skin tone."

Harry felt himself flush slightly at the sight of Draco, lack of jacket making him look less buttoned up than usual, perched on his bed. _He’s slept there before,_ he thought, trying to convince himself that it wasn’t a big deal, but somehow that thought caused the opposite reaction to what he was aiming for. _Stupid brain, realizing I like boys_ , he groused internally. Attempting not to show his slight fluster, Harry rolled his eyes and tossed the jeans to the other boy, digging back into the drawer for a different shirt. He smirked when he found an alternative offering, holding it up for approval. “GRYFFINDORS ARE KEEPERS” golden-yellow letters announced on a deep Gryffindor red shirt. Below the letters were three Quidditch goals.

Malfoy had set the jeans to the side of him and glanced up at the new shirt, immediately bursting into laughter at the sight. As he laughed, he stood from the bed and made his way over to the other, taking the shirt from his hands and musing, "I'm going to wear this. But I want you to know how ridiculous I find it."

Draco shook his head with amusement as he lifted his hands to unbutton the shirt he was wearing, pausing for only a moment about halfway through to ask, "Are you sure you do not mind me getting paint on it?"

Harry’s eyes had gone wide as the other boy began to casually undress in front of him. He coughed, forcing his eyes back up to Malfoy’s face from where he’d been following as his fingers deftly unbuttoned himself. “Huh? Oh, yeah, I don’t care. It was a joke gift from Gin; I’d feel weird wearing it anyway.” Slightly pink, he decided to excuse himself. “I’ll, ah, I’ll just head downstairs and start setting up in the parlour, yeah?”

Malfoy had definitely noticed the pink tint to Harry's cheeks before he exited the room, finding that the reaction made him feel incredibly smug. Once the other boy was gone, he quickly switched his outfit with the one Harry had provided, though he had to grab the belt from his own trousers as the jeans were loose enough on him that he worried they might slip off of their own accord. The shirt fit him well enough, covering the scars that ran along the entirety of his chest. It was cute, though perhaps a bit too short for him. It would be fine as long as he was not doing too much reaching above his head.

He moved to exit the room, halting in his tracks as he reached out for the door. The short sleeves came with the definite problem of leaving his dark mark on display. He glanced back at his jacket for just a moment, considering putting it on over the tee, but he took a deep breath and instead walked from the room with his head high and made his way down to the parlour.

Harry had pulled the furniture back from the walls and was in the process of rolling large sheets of plastic out along the floor. “Hey!” he greeted without looking as he heard Draco enter the room. “You want to grab those sheets and throw them over the furniture?” He nodded toward a pile of moth-eaten old bed sheets which he’d salvaged from a cabinet on the second floor. “Once I finish this, I’m going to start taping the edges; I’ll do the top and you can get started on the baseboards. That okay?” He glanced over his shoulder and took in the boy standing in the doorway in oversized jeans and a slightly-too-small Gryffindor shirt. His face split into a grin. “Oh my god, you look adorable,” he snickered without thinking.

The blond nodded at the instruction to grab the sheets and had begun to step into the room to do just that when Potter looked his way and complimented him. His gave a wide grin accompanied by a playful wink as he sauntered in, "Of course I do. I have always been adorable; you were just too oblivious to notice."

“Is it possible to be adorable in three-piece suits?” Harry mused, grabbing a ladder and a roll of painter’s tape and climbing up to begin taping off the edge of the intricate woodwork to protect it from paint splatter. “I feel like your usual look is way too put together to count as adorable.” His own ragged grey tee rode up slightly as he reached up to start applying the tape to the wall.

"When I am wearing suits, I am typically going for ' _dashing,'_ " Draco retorted as he grabbed the sheets and began covering furniture with them, though most of his attention was focused on the Gryffindor. "But I am not _always_ in three-piece suits. I do own other clothes. My collection of pajamas is rather impressive, and, yes, adorable. I also have quite a few t-shirts that I have purchased. Most of them I have not actually worn, mostly because my father didn't approve of them, but still, they exist."

Harry laughed from his high perch, trying to stay focused so that he didn’t fall. “Well, first of all, it would have been pretty hard for me to notice you being adorable in clothes you’ve never worn. And I’ve DEFINITELY never seen you in pajamas. I’m pretty sure I’d remember that.” He grinned amusedly at the blond over his shoulder briefly before he climbed down from the ladder to move it over a few feet so that he could reach a new section of woodwork. _I am currently flirting with Draco Malfoy while he helps me get ready to do Muggle house painting,_ he found himself realizing. _My life is truly not going the way I expected it to post-war._

Malfoy laughed lightly as he threw another sheet over an armchair and retorted, "All right, so I have adorable _potential,_ then." He busied himself with unfolding another sheet, turning slightly to hide the blush on his cheeks as he added, "Perhaps if you have me over for another sleepover, you might get the chance to see some of my pajamas. Though, I would hope it could perhaps happen _without_ the accompanying panic attack."

Harry was very glad that he was facing away from the other boy when Draco made his comment about sleepovers because he was reasonably sure his blush had spread all the way to his ears. _I feel like I’m playing flirt-chicken right now. Who’s going to run first?_ he thought. Out loud, he said, “I just might have to do that. I’m curious about these so-called adorable pajamas. I just can’t picture it.” He paused, considering his next statement, trying to feel out how far the Slytherin would take this game. “Although, I have to say, I’m a bit worried that you hate your guest house so much that you would willingly sleep here. Other than my room and the one Ron and Hermione have claimed, the bedrooms here are BLEAK.”

The Slytherin worried at his lower lip for a moment, the reality of the situation he was in and whom exactly he was currently engaging in flirtatious banter with causing his stomach to do a strange somersault inside him. It took him just a few beats to compose himself enough to retort, "I'm not wholly surprised at your general lack of imagination, Potter. I suppose that means that a demonstration will have to be arranged. As far as sleeping accommodations go… I am certain we can figure out something a little less bleak."

Harry whipped around in surprise to look at Draco and promptly fell off the ladder, landing hard on his back with a resounding WHUMP. He closed his eyes in embarrassment, scrunching up his face in chagrin. “Ow,” he muttered.

Draco pivoted toward the sound with worry. Quickly realizing from the other boy’s embarrassed expression that he wasn’t too badly hurt, the Slytherin snickered and made his way over to him. He dropped to a crouch beside Harry, tilting his head quizzically and raising a playful brow, "Are you all right, Pookie?"

Harry kept his eyes squeezed shut. “I think I broke my dignity,” he answered with a groan and a half-hearted laugh.

The Slytherin chuckled as he looked down at the boy splayed on the floor, doing his best to ignore the way his heart was hammering in his chest. He replied in amusement, "I think your dignity was broken a long time ago."

At this, Harry opened his eyes to glare at the boy crouching over him. “Well that’s just RUDE. I’m injured; you’re supposed to be nice to me.” He pouted.

The blond nodded sagely and replied, "Of course. You are right." After just another beat, he asked with a mischievous smile, "And how would you prefer for me to be nice to you?"

Harry’s breath caught in his throat as he met Draco’s eyes. He debated his next statement, and then, in true Gryffindor fashion, threw caution to the wind. “I mean, a _real_ gentleman would offer to kiss it better,” he dared, trying to keep his gaze confident but worried that it reflected his nerves and uncertainty.

Draco grinned at the answer, feeling as if his heart was leaping into his throat as he gave another nod and leaned forward, bracing one knee on the floor to steady himself. One hand came down to the floor near Harry’s face for balance, while the other came up to cup Potter's jaw as he caught the Gryffindor's lips with his own in a gentle and relatively chaste kiss.

Harry exhaled shakily as he felt Draco’s lips press against his own. It was warm, and soft, and almost unbearably sweet. When the other boy began to pull back, Harry felt one of his arms come up almost without his permission, his hand moving to grip the back of the blond head to hold it still as he propped himself up on his other elbow and brought their lips back together, pressing only slightly harder than Draco had, parting his lips just slightly to capture the boy’s lower lip between his own briefly. _Oh shit,_ he thought, shocked, _I’m kissing Draco Malfoy. I’m KISSING Draco. Fucking. MALFOY._

Draco let out a soft noise of surprise when Harry's hand pressed them more firmly together, but the noise soon shifted into a pleased hum in response to the bold response to his kiss. He let his own hand trail further back, leaving Harry's jaw and instead letting his fingers tangle in the boy's raven hair as he parted his own lips with a soft moan.

Draco’s receptiveness sent shivers up Harry’s spine. At the sound of the other boy’s appreciation, he responded instinctively, a slight whine escaping him as his fingers entwined in soft white gold hair, and his tongue teased out to brush lightly against Malfoy’s.

The feeling of Harry slipping his tongue into his mouth had an intense shiver running along Draco's spine. He returned the motion enthusiastically, savouring the taste and feel of him, mind reeling from the reality of what exactly was happening in this moment. _I am snogging Harry Potter_ , he thought to himself as he gripped the boy's hair just a little more firmly. _And he asked me to. He actually wants this._

 _God_ , Harry thought. He was overwhelmed by the feel, the smell, the taste of the boy leaning over him. _I can’t believe this is happening right now._ It had been less than a week since Harry had even admitted to himself that he was attracted to men, and now here he was, entangled with Draco Fucking Malfoy, and he was on fire with wanting it. They kissed and kissed, and Harry was lightheaded with it, unable to take a full breath but not wanting to stop. Finally, after several long minutes, he pulled back, panting. For a moment, the two boys stared at each other, flushed and slightly stunned. Clearing his throat, Harry finally spoke. “Thanks,” he said with a grin, breaking the tension, “I feel much better now.”

When Harry finally ended the kiss, Draco was left looking wrecked, a dazed smile on his face, reddened cheeks and his hair sticking up at odd angles everywhere that Harry had messed it up with his grasping fingers. At the comment, Malfoy smirked at him and replied, "You're welcome. Any time, Potter."

Harry’s grin grew even wider as he levered himself up to a sitting position. “Oh, I’m definitely taking you up on that.” He winced as he shifted. “In all honesty though, I think I bruised my tailbone when I fell,” he confessed sheepishly. “I’m gonna go grab a pain potion, and then we can get to actually painting.”

Draco gave a small, pleased laugh, his blush intensifying as Potter more or less stated that he planned on doing this again. At the admission of actual injury, however, his brow furrowed, and he drew his wand out from the back pocket of the jeans he wore, pointing it toward Harry. "I can help," he offered. Without waiting for a response, the blond silently cast a minor healing spell in the Gryffindor's direction. Afterward, he tilted his head to the side and asked curiously, "How is that?"

Harry gasped as the pain disappeared abruptly. “Did you just…?” he asked, surprised. Then, shaking his head in disbelief, he grasped the back of Draco’s head once again, pressing a hard kiss against his lips. “That should not have been as hot as it was,” he laughed, before getting to his feet and offering a hand to pull the Slytherin up with him.

Draco once again had that dopey dazed look on his face when Potter pulled back from the second kiss. He recovered fairly quickly, however, taking the boy's hand and standing up with him. "It was just a really minor healing spell," he muttered almost sheepishly. "I got pretty decent at healing spells last year, actually. For students. They couldn't go to Pomfrey, or she'd get in loads of trouble."

At the reminder of the world outside Grimmauld Place, Harry grimaced and nodded in sympathy. “I’m glad you were able to help,” he said, “but I hate that it was needed. I really should have learned healing while we were on the run, but there was never any time, you know? Hermione had Dittany and knew some minor healing charms, but mostly we just ended up with a lot of scars.” He rubbed at his breastbone absently, where the cursed locket had been cut off of him. He shook his head, trying to dispel the ghosts of the past year. “All right, any chance you want to do the top part of the taping and let me do the baseboards? I’m feeling a little wary of the ladder now.” He gave a sheepish smile.

It did not take an Occlumens to know that he had started the Gryffindor down a dark train of thought and that the mention of the work they were supposed to be doing was a subtle hint to drop it. Draco gave a nod and replied, "I think I can probably manage it." He stepped away from the other boy and carefully climbed the ladder, taking just a moment to examine how Potter had been taping off the crown moulding before starting in on the task himself.

A rather large amount of wasted tape soon resulted as the Slytherin became hyper focused on the chore, refusing to accept any section that was any less than perfect, often pulling all of the tape free and starting over if he was unhappy with his first attempt. He had been right that the shirt he wore would be problematic if he had to spend much time reaching upwards; he was constantly having to tug the fabric back down to cover his scarred midriff, leaving him almost wishing he had chosen the disgusting purple shirt instead.

Due to Draco’s insistent perfectionism, Harry was done with his taping well before the other boy. He sat back on his haunches, watching fondly as the Slytherin pulled off yet another section of tape before stretching up to reapply it in what Harry assumed was a more precise manner, although it had looked fine to him before. He smiled softly at the fierce look of concentration on the boy’s face until a glimpse of white caught his eye where Draco’s shirt had ridden up. Was that….? He squinted. It looked like a scar. Harry winced internally, wondering what horror had caused such a mark before the shirt rose up another inch, exposing the second line of what appeared to be a network of thin scarring, and the pieces clicked together in the Gryffindor’s mind.

“Oh god,” he breathed, instantly on his feet. Without thinking, a hand reached out toward the exposed skin before he pulled it back like he’d been stung. “Draco, is that from…?” He looked up, feeling raw all of a sudden, desperate for a denial. All of the easy, happy mood from before had disappeared like the sun behind a storm cloud.

Draco flushed brightly as he tugged the shirt down once again. Before answering, he stepped down from the ladder and turned to face the guilt-stricken boy he had been kissing only minutes before. Taking a calming breath, he replied, "We all have scars, Harry. I know that you didn't mean for it to be that bad."

Despite Draco’s comforting words, Harry’s chest felt tight and painful. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, hands fluttering helplessly by his sides, as though he wanted to reach out but couldn’t bring himself to do so. “I didn’t even know what that spell DID. I wanted so badly to know what you were up to, and I just… fuck. Who uses a spell they don’t even know? I almost killed you.” He took a step back, stumbling slightly over his own feet. His eyes were still focused on Malfoy’s midriff, as though he could still see the scars through the shirt. He brought one hand to his forehead, running the fingers back into his hair, still tangled from their kissing. “Fuck,” he muttered again.

Refusing to allow Harry to put distance between them, Draco took a step forward and replied in an intentionally quiet, calm voice, attempting to head off Harry’s shame spiral. "I am fine. Really, I am. It was a bad situation. And I had just thrown an Unforgivable curse at you. I am not mad at you for this. I wasn't even mad at you for it when it happened. Please do not beat yourself up for something that I forgave you for the moment it happened."

Harry closed his eyes, trying to hold back the tears he could feel gathering. He took a deep breath, willing himself not to fall apart. _It is not his job to take care of you now that you feel bad about hurting him_ , he told himself firmly. _Get your shit together, Potter._ He took another deep breath for good measure before opening his eyes again to meet Draco’s. “I’m still sorry,” he said firmly. “Just because you forgave me doesn’t mean it was okay.” He took another breath. “But thank you. For not holding it against me.” He tentatively laid a hand on the other boy’s shoulder, and when he didn’t flinch away, pulled him gently into a hug.

Draco felt a sudden wave of relief when Harry pulled him into the hug, and he returned the affection without hesitation. He buried his head in Harry's mop of hair and responded softly, "It's okay." After a few moments, in an attempt to lighten the mood a little bit, Malfoy pressed a bit more firmly against the other and teased, "I _can_ hold it against you, if you'd like."

Relieved at the other boy’s levity, Harry allowed himself a small chuckle. “We’ll see. Suppose it depends on whether those ‘adorable’ pajamas of yours have shirts and whether those shirts are optional,” he teased. Pressing his forehead to the blond’s hair briefly, he released him. “Okay, we’re actually going to paint now! I mean it this time! If I start throwing feelings at you again, shoot an Aguamenti at me or something.” Leaving Draco to finish his taping, Harry went about preparing the paint and rollers for the task at hand.

Draco had smiled at Harry’s weak laugh, glad that his teasing had lessened the tension. He then found himself flushing quite brightly as the rest of the Gryffindor’s statement caught up to him. Turning to finish up the last section of wall left to tape, he couldn’t keep the grin out of his voice as he shot back, "All right then, no more feelings until after your chores are done, Potter. Even if those feelings are about my optional pajamas."

He smoothed out the last strip of tape and hopped down from the ladder to make his way over to where the paint had been set up and asked, "So… we just smear this on the walls, yes?"

Amused, Harry glanced at Draco, who was looking skeptically at the painting supplies. “Er, sort of,” he prevaricated. “There’s a bit of a technique to it. Here, I’ll show you.” Harry loaded one of the rollers with paint and proceeded to roll a zig zag pattern across one long wall. “This way helps it distribute more evenly, so there aren’t streaks. See?” He rubbed a forearm over his forehead, which was already beginning to sweat, and handed over the roller. “You start here, and I’ll take the wall to the right, okay?”

Draco took the roller tentatively but gave a nod and repeated the motion Harry had demonstrated for him. He quickly found that it was much more efficient to load more paint onto the roller than Harry had, and proceeded to make sure that the roller was positively dripping with paint each time he reloaded it. Soon, there was paint not only on the wall, but also coating his hands and forearms. He had even managed to smear some across his cheek.

Harry had been making good progress with his wall, but when he turned to get more paint, he stopped in his tracks at the sight before him. Draco Malfoy, pristine Prince of Slytherin House, was positively covered in white paint. Streaks of it ran up his arms, rivers of it ran over his hands, smears decorated his cheek and forehead where he seemed to have tried to wipe sweat from himself, and splatters of it were just visible against his already almost-white hair.

A bark of laughter escaped Harry before he could stop himself. “Merlin, Draco, what did you do, bathe in it?! “ he asked on a disbelieving grin. “That’s going to be a bitch to get out of your hair. I’m glad I made you change your clothes at least.” He tried desperately to keep from chuckling, but he couldn’t help himself. He snickered helplessly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Malfoy look this messy in my entire life,” he confessed.

Draco turned to Harry when he spoke, the roller in his hand steadily dripping onto the plastic that was covering the floor. He brought his hand up to wipe at his face, only making matters far worse for himself as he answered acerbically, "No, Potter. I didn't _bathe_ in it. I am doing this just like you told me to." He glanced upward, as if he were going to be able to catch a glimpse at his own hair, quickly looking back to the Gryffindor and adding with a pout, "I blame you entirely for any mess."

Harry was about to make a snarky reply when he noticed the state of the wall Draco had been working on. “Shit,” he muttered, watching heavy streaks of paint drip down the wall. Pointing at the paint-soaked boy, he said “Blame later; damage control now. If we don’t mop up the extra before it dries, this wall is going to look like it’s weeping, and my house is depressing enough already.” Grabbing a couple clean rollers, Harry handed one to Draco. “Like this,” he directed, and began repeating the zig zag motions he had demonstrated earlier, soaking up and redistributing the paint.

The Slytherin turned back to the wall after accepting the dry roller that he was handed and quickly moved to follow in suit with the other boy, though he was wearing a vivid blush as he did so. As he worked to fix what was apparently a terrible job, he said, " _In my defense_ , the whole wall does have paint on it. That was about the end of the instruction I received, and these muggle brushes are really unintuitive, okay?"

Turning to look at the other boy briefly, Harry gave him an apologetic grin. “Sorry, it’s not your fault. I’ve been doing this since I was a kid; I sometimes forget how different it must be to be raised in a magical household.” He smirked, unable to help himself. “You do look absolutely ridiculous, though. We’ll have to scourgify you before it dries, or I have no idea how we’ll get you clean.”

Malfoy looked back to Harry with a genuine sneer on his face, a look that Harry hadn’t seen in quite some time. Moving quickly, the Slytherin whipped his roller around and swiped it across the side of Harry's head, spitting sourly, "There, now you look _ridiculous,_ too."

Harry gaped. “Oh, you are so going to regret that,” he answered, the light of challenge glinting in his eyes. Before Draco had a second to even think about getting out of the way, Harry had whipped his roller around and streaked it down the other boy’s face, leaving him looking like a surprised mime.

The surprise faded rather quickly, however, making way for a challenging glare. Unfortunately, it missed the mark as far as intimidation went due to the paint coating his face. He quickly retaliated, moving forward to tackle Harry to the ground and pin him.

Harry, however, had spent the last year running and dueling, and he was fast on his feet. He swiftly ducked under the Slytherin’s arm and grabbed him around the chest from behind. Draco was taller than Harry, if only by a tiny bit, but Harry had the advantage of body weight over the thinner boy. Holding him tightly, Harry proceeded to tickle him mercilessly.

When his tackle was evaded, Malfoy was surprised to say the very least. So surprised that he did not even realize what Potter's plan was until he had been fully enveloped in his arms and the Gryffindor was _tickling him_. The noise that Draco made, which could only be described as a yelp, was far from dignified. It was even less dignified coupled with the fit of bonafide giggles that erupted as he thrashed in Potter's unrelenting grip.

The sounds Draco was making were utterly delightful. Harry couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “Now, are you sorry for attacking me?” he asked innocently.

Draco continued to struggle against the assault, his _shrieks_ only getting louder at each passing moment. He could not catch his breath to even answer Potter's question, and so, reacting as any stable person would — he bit Harry Potter.

Harry swore and released the other boy. “Oh, my god, did you just BITE ME?” he yelped. “Oh, I am so telling Ron about this; he’s never going to stop calling you ferret now.”

As soon as he had been released, Draco clutched at his sides, trying desperately to catch his breath but managing to wheeze, "I'm sorry. I panicked."

Harry cracked up. “I can’t believe you BIT me! Some big scary dark wizard you are,” he snorted. Shaking his head, he held out a hand to the doubled-over Draco, beckoning. “C’mere, let me get the paint off of you before it dries. Truce,” he promised.

Draco let out a chuckle as he straightened up and took Harry's hand and mused, "I can't believe you _tickled_ me. What kind of first-year tactic is _that_?"

Harry grinned. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” He pulled his wand out of his pocket and cast _Scourgify_ over the disheveled Slytherin, carefully cleaning the drips of drying paint from his skin and hair, not bothering with the ruined clothes. He cast a pre-emptory charm over himself as well, ensuring that he wouldn’t require a haircut to undo the damage Draco had caused with his paint roller, before threading his fingers through now-clean blond hair and kissing the other boy through a smile.

“You are an absolutely ridiculous human,” he murmured against Draco’s lips, “and I have no idea how I’m going to stop kissing you now that I’ve started.”

The feeling of the cleaning charm washing over him was akin to the sensation of sinking into a bath that was just a little too warm to be comfortable, but he shook it off as Harry went on to clean himself up. Then Harry's hands were on him, and he was being pulled into a surprising but entirely welcome kiss. Malfoy wrapped his arms gently around the other boy's waist and hummed thoughtfully, "Maybe just don't stop then. It seems like the easiest solution."

Harry smiled and brought their lips softly together again. “Sounds reasonable.”

Eventually, despite being frequently distracted by one another, the boys managed to get the entire room painted. Setting his supplies down, Harry took a few steps back and eyed the room consideringly. “Wow,” he finally said, “you were right. That makes a huge difference. I reckon I can actually start to make this room livable once that’s dry.” He smiled at Malfoy, feeling genuinely pleased with the progress they’d made. “Thank you.”

Malfoy dropped his roller into the tray which was set down on the ground, this time having managed to keep himself relatively clean as they finished up the room, and straightened up to take a look around. "You're welcome, Pookie. It does seem much more open with the lighter colors. This furniture you have is decent as well; it just needs to be reupholstered. I cannot say I would be any more successful at that than I was my first attempt at painting, but I can certainly help you pick out some new fabric. That, or we could go back to plan A and just start a bonfire with all this and you can pick out new stuff."

Harry considered. “I wonder if there’s a spell for reupholstering that would be easier than doing it the Muggle way? I don’t know how keen I am on taking up sewing. I’ll check in with Molly and see if she’s got any tips. I’d love your help with picking fabric though; I wouldn’t even know where to start.” He grinned at Draco. “Also, Malfoy, if you ever call me ‘Pookie’ where anyone else can hear you, I will curse your hair Weasley red.”

Draco gasped indignantly and turned to the other boy with one hand on his hip, the other pointing threateningly at him, though there was no real malice in the gesture. "You will do no such thing, Harry Potter. First off, _rude_ for rejecting my pet name for you. Secondly, do you understand how washed out that shade of hair would make me look? I am already so pale that I reflect sunlight; let's not be cruel."

“Try me, _Malfoy,_ ” Harry teased. He stretched and yawned. “All right, it’s getting late,” he sighed. “Do you want a post-painting drink? Or should we just call it a night?”

Malfoy had stuck his tongue out at the other boy's taunt but proceeded to mirror the yawn, lifting one hand to cover his mouth. He pondered the options for a moment and then replied with a sigh, "I should go. I would love to stay for a drink, but I have an appointment with my probation auror in the morning. I should probably not risk showing up hungover for it."

“That makes sense,” Harry nodded. “All right then. I’ll owl you soon and let you know what I learn from Molly, yeah?”

Malfoy nodded and quickly excused himself to change back into his own clothes, tossing the paint spattered ones into Harry's practically overflowing clothes hamper before making his way back down the stairs to where the other boy was waiting. He paused near the door, rocking back on his heels slightly as he said, "Are we on for next Friday, maybe?"

Harry smiled. “Definitely. Good night, Draco.”

"Good night, Harry." Draco replied, dipping down to press a soft kiss to Potter's lips before turning and making his way out of Grimmauld Place, apparating on the spot as soon as he had reached the sidewalk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi Draco,**

**So I went to see Andromeda and Teddy this morning, and she asked about you. She wasn’t one of the people I gave much thought to seeing our stunning front page spread; I sort of forgot you’re family. Whoops. It didn’t go badly, though, don’t worry; she was just curious about the fact that we’ve been spending time together. I wasn’t sure what to tell her when she asked if we were really a couple (“We weren’t when that photo was taken, but we spent quite a lot of Friday snogging each other silly so I’m not actually sure at this point,” seemed like a bit too much to share.), so I just told her we’ve been getting to know each other and that you’re really different now than you were growing up. She seemed interested in getting to know you herself. Would you maybe want to come along when I visit sometime? Teddy is a bit too young to be much fun yet, but he’s very cute and his hair turns colors when you tickle him, which is pretty wicked.**

**I’m going to the Burrow tomorrow for Sunday roast, so I’ll ask Molly about reupholstering then. Cross your fingers she knows something, or you might get stuck helping me pick out entirely new furniture when I chuck the stuff I’ve got out a window.**

**Harry**

_Hello Harry,_

_I suppose that I should be grateful that there is one member of my family, albeit an estranged one, that does not think I am the scum of the Earth for seducing you with my wily charms and dark wizarding ways._

_I think that it would be nice to see her, and Teddy — who would technically be my first cousin once removed, I suppose. I would be happy to tag along with you sometime, as long as you did not feel I would be imposing on your time with your godson._

_Let me know what Mrs. Weasley says. I can also look around the library to see if we have any home care spell books tucked away that may be helpful._

_Also — is it just me, or have our plans for the summer become extremely domestic? (i.e. home repairs, picking out furniture, visitations with your godson.)_

_Draco_

**Draco,**

**Didn’t I tell you the Prophet would have us married off before the summer was over? They’ve made us domestic with their MIND CONTROL. We are old and married now, and we have 2.5 children and a crup.**

**I might be a bit drunk.**

**I ended up on George Watch after dinner, and I was supposed to keep him from drinking alone, so I just drank WITH HIM. That counts, right? I think he should be allowed to drink away his pain for a while if he wants to. If anyone has the right, it’s him.**

**Mrs. Weasley DOES know furniture covering charms (I can’t think of the word right now; it always takes me ages to find the right words when I’m writing to you. Why are you so SMART?), but now she wants to help and I’m terrified. Can you two be in a room together? She did kill your aunt. But then, I think you hated your aunt, too, so maybe it would be fine. I just don’t want you to not come. I like you a lot. Don’t be scared off by my almost mum please.**

**Harry**

_Harry,_

_I suppose that now that the Prophet has spoken, there is little we can do about it. Though I am slightly alarmed at the wellbeing of our 2.5 children and crup. I have not been watching or feeding these little life forms who apparently depend on us._

_I agree that George Weasley deserves a few drinks to cope with everything. In fact, all of the Weasleys really deserve a pint or two._

_Reupholstering, darling. That's the word you are looking for. I would not be opposed to Mrs. Weasley being there (bringing me around to meet your 'almost mother' is another quite domestic thing for you to propose. Also, the fact that Mrs. Weasley killed Bellatrix honestly just makes me appreciate her more)._

_In response to the perfectly endearing and sentimental statement that you “like me a lot,” I suppose that one of us should likely start that actual conversation. Are we a couple?_

_Draco_

**Draco,**

**Do you want us to be a couple? I feel like the expected Gryffindor thing to do would be for me to just tell you, “Yes, that is what we are,” but the HARRY thing to do is to make sure you would actually want that because, as you have probably noticed, I am sort of a lot to handle right now, what with the unwanted fame and mild drinking problem and what Hermione refers to as PTSD but which I prefer to think of as poor adjustment to having died and then come back because Muggle psychology is really not something I have the energy to learn about right now.**

**What I’m saying is that if you don’t want to take all of that on, I don’t blame you; but if you don’t mind that I’m a wreck, I think that being a couple could be very nice. I’d rather like the excuse to just kiss you all the time. Also, then I could stop having long, confusing conversations about The Article and could just say, “Yes, Draco is my boyfriend; if you don’t like it, please piss off.”**

**This is kind of a stressful letter to write, so I’m just going to send it as is and deal with plan-making when I’m not quite so jittery.**

**Harry**

_Harry,_

_Perhaps the 'Yes, that is what we are' answer may be the expected Gryffindor answer, but I do not think it is the most Gryffindor answer when it truthfully comes down to it. Having the courage and bravery to be able to admit your faults and point out things that may make a relationship between us a challenge, and caring that I am aware of those things before moving forward — that is actually rather Gryffindor. _

_I know that there are some things that will be difficult about being with you, just as there are a great deal of things that would make being in a relationship with me difficult. And this is without war trauma. I am just a difficult person by nature. I am possessive, clingy, jealous, needy beyond belief, my moods change quickly, and I get upset easily._

_Then, if we are bringing war trauma into the mix, I have my fair share of problems. I manage to keep myself somewhat composed most of the time, but I am so messed up, Potter._

_I can deal with your crazy if you are willing to deal with mine._

_Draco_

**Draco,**

**I’m in.**

**Yours,**

**Harry**

_Harry 'Boyfriend' Potter,_

_Now that that is settled, I have the following requirements. _

_A sweater of yours: preferably a large one that is also cute, not a shabby one._

_At least one additional day per week that we see each other. This does not have to be a formal affair, but it is non-negotiable. _

_I, while the thought is terrifying, need to speak to your friends. I am aware that if I am going to pursue a relationship with you, Granger and the Weasel are sort of part of the package. I do not expect them to like this, or me, but I think the effort is warranted._

_Yours,_

_Draco_

**Draco “Boyfriend” Malfoy,**

**It’s too bad you ruined the “Gryffindors are Keepers” shirt by being awful at painting! That would definitely have been yours to keep. Or, actually, regifting presents from exes to new boyfriends is probably not great, huh? So never mind. Luckily, Molly Weasley has made me a sweater every Christmas since I was 11. I’m debating whether you should have the one she made with a dragon on it or one with an H. I’ll probably let you choose.**

**Extra time sounds great. No negotiations required.**

**Should I invite Ron and Hermione to join us next Friday? Or would you rather talk to them without me there? I’m not sure which would be more awkward, but I can let them know you’d like to speak to them either way. For what it’s worth, since they know we’ve been spending time together (and have maybe watched me have a MILD bisexual identity crisis breakdown), I think it won’t be as bad as you are afraid of.**

**Adding my own point: thank you for being willing to get to know Molly; it really means a lot to me. Why don’t you and I pick out fabric ourselves, and then the three of us can do the actual reupholstering together? (Look, I remember words when I’m sober! I’m so proud!)**

**Yours,**

**Harry**

_Pookie,_

_I can't say that a hand-me-down from your ex would be ideal. Also, that shirt was too short. The point is for it to be large and comfortable. The dragon sounds cute — on a couple different levels, actually. You know that my name quite literally means 'dragon', right? (Though technically speaking, I suppose it actually means dragon of light and bad faith if we are translating everything.) A Quidditch jersey would also be acceptable._

_You can invite them Friday. I think that having you there as a buffer would certainly be preferable. At some point, I suppose you will need to spend some time with a few select Slytherins as well. Pansy and Blaise are important to me and are very accepting of this whole thing. Also, they are really quite wonderful people once you get to know them and learn their sense of humour._

_In regard to Mrs. Weasley, I am looking forward to getting to know her. I am aware that my reputation will precede me with many of the people dear to you, and I am prepared for it to not be easy or comfortable. Perhaps having the shared task of reupholstering your furniture will help with any long and awkward silences._

_Just let me know when you want to pick out fabrics._

_I managed to have a conversation with my mother, by the way. I think she is coming around. She said that she should have expected this from the inordinate amount of time that I used to spend prattling on about you and by how posh I am. I believe that is progress._

_Yours,_

_Draco_

**Boyfriend,**

**I literally snorted firewhiskey out of my nose at the idea of YOUR MOTHER of ALL people thinking that “posh” must mean “gay.” It hurt like a bitch, so thanks for that. Seriously though, has she MET your father? The man practically had “posh” tattooed across his forehead! I mean, it might have been hard to see under the other tattoo that said “hateful bigot,” but still.**

**I’ve spoken to Hermione and Ron, and to Molly. R & H are on for Friday, and Molly said I should bring you for Sunday roast (dear god) and then that the three of us could come back here after to look at the furniture (DEAR GOD), so prepare yourself for needing a lot of alcohol this weekend.**

**About us dating, Hermione was not at all shocked. More like resigned, really. Ron just muttered about owing Ginny ten galleons, which, honestly, what the fuck, how many people did she make that bet with? And when??**

**Do you want to go fabric shopping on Wednesday? I CAN NOT BELIEVE I JUST WROTE THAT SENTENCE. I am seventeen going on seventy.**

**Speaking of ages, I’m glad you’re going to get to re-meet most of my important people now; my birthday is coming up fast, and I’m sure the Weasleys will want to have a party, and I would really like you to be there. Now that you’re my boyfriend, I actually think there’s a rule that you have to be? So no excuses!**

**I’m happy (?) to get to know your friends. I honestly don’t have much experience with either Pansy or Blaise. Basically just that Pansy used to pet your hair and make fun of people a lot, and Blaise was in the Slug Club (god, that was the worst) and is at least as posh as you. Maybe next weekend or the one after, once we’ve had a chance to recover from my family?**

**Yours,**

**Harry**

_Boyfriend,_

_My father is, perhaps, the most posh person I have ever met in all my days. He would spend at least three times the amount of time that I do on his hair every morning and was likely to burn outfits (outfits which were usually at least several hundred galleons each) if he felt that they did not provide the proper silhouette. The only thing he had stronger opinions on than blood status was fashion. I can only imagine him complaining to the Dementors now that the Azkaban robes clash with his skin tone. _

_Fabric shopping on Wednesday sounds lovely. (And I can believe you just wrote that sentence. After all, I am corrupting you with my homosexual dark wizarding ways.) _

_The Weaslette likely made that bet with about as many people as Pansy did. It has, apparently, been a very lucrative month in the Parkinson-Zabini household._

_It sounds like… quite the weekend. I am more than happy to do all those things — Friday night vulnerability and awkward Sunday roast. I will do my best not to insult the people you love._

_I will owl Pansy and ask when would be the best time for them in the upcoming weeks. She has been quite keen on the eventuality of this meeting, so I imagine we will hear back shortly._

_In regard to your birthday, I fully intend to make an appearance if you want me there. Is there anything in particular that you would like for your birthday, or are you going to be one of those 'Oh, I don't need anything' people and force me to give it my best blind guess? If you make me guess, it will likely be a ridiculous gift. _

_With your birthday coming up, the new term at Hogwarts is also approaching rather quickly. Have you given any more thought on if you would like to go?_

_Yours,_

_Draco_

**Boyfriend,**

**Merlin, you’ve got me almost pitying the Dementors.**

**Do I have to start living up to other homosexual stereotypes now, too, or does my status as a bi/Quidditchsexual person mean I’m okay? Because, honestly, even if I DID spend hours in front of a mirror, I don’t think my hair would do anything other than what it does now. It’s at least as stubborn as me, maybe more. I’ve actually been thinking about letting it grow (Sirius had long hair, and I really liked it.) or just shaving it off. People always want to gape at the scar anyway, so I might as well make it easier on them, yeah?**

**I sort of think we should introduce Ginny and Pansy, but I’m also terrified that their combined powers would kill us all.**

**I am going to make another depressing reference to my childhood and tell you that my first real birthday present was from Hagrid when I turned 11, so anything at all will be well above the average. My relatives once gave me a toothpick. Once, for Christmas, I got a note telling me not to come home for the summer if I could help it. So I’ve already got one of those, in case it was on your list of options. You have my permission to be as ridiculous as you want, is what I am trying to say. Have at it!**

**I’m still debating about Hogwarts. I think I’ll probably go? Now that Hermione is back, it’s a LOT harder to tell myself that I might not without cringing about how she will react. And I still don’t have any better plans. What about you?**

**See you tomorrow,**

**Harry**

_Boyfriend,_

_Do not pity the Dementors. If my father has his way, he will have them all looking rather dapper by the time he is Kissed… which is actually scheduled to happen rather soon. I have been trying not to think about that much, honestly. While I know that he is awful and did really unspeakable things, he is still my father. I'm conflicted._

_Moving on._

_I think that the bisexual/Quidditchsexual thing gives you some leniency to be a bit rough around the edges. I am stereotypical enough for the both of us anyway. It will be good to balance it out a bit, I think._

_DO NOT SHAVE YOUR HEAD. If you want to grow it out, I know a few good hair growth charms. We can always mess around with it at different lengths and you can allow me to subject you to an afternoon of hairstyling. I am certain I can figure out a style that works for you that will not require much maintenance on your part. _

_Pansy and the Weaslette will ABSOLUTELY take over the world if we allow them to become friends, Potter. Also, I’m fairly convinced that Blaise will seduce both her and Dean Thomas if given the opportunity and will end up roping them into the polyamorous free love thing they have going on. I do not know that the world is prepared for the repercussions of what you are proposing._

_The more you tell me about your childhood, the more mortified I am by it. I will figure out gifts. I have the feeling that if I play my cards right, I may get a wonderful conspirator in the form of Molly Weasley._

_I have been considering Hogwarts. It seems like a somewhat productive way to get through a good half of my probation period. If our classmates have been as open as you have insinuated, it might be more pleasant than what has been going on. It is possible, also, that after another term, people will have calmed down a bit about my past. They may be a little more accepting when the wounds are not so fresh? Pansy and Blaise are going back._

_(Plus, if you are going to be going back, it sounds downright dreadful to spend a year with you gone while I drink alone in the guesthouse.)_

_See you tomorrow._

_Draco_

By prior agreement, Harry and Draco met a few blocks from the Leaky Cauldron on the Muggle side of the pub so as to spare Draco the danger of showing up alone. They’d discussed going to a Muggle shop, but Draco had insisted that magical fabrics would hold up much better, and Harry figured that as long as Draco was fine with braving the Wizarding shopping district, he could manage as well.

Pressing a quick kiss to Draco’s lips in greeting, and reveling in the fact that he could do so, Harry abruptly opened their conversation with “I’ll go back to Hogwarts if you will, but only on the condition that neither of us EVER confesses that was part of our reasoning.”

Draco grinned widely as Harry approached him on the street, humming pleasantly into the brief kiss as his hands settled on Potter's waist. He flushed slightly but otherwise managed to remain more or less dignified as the Gryffindor pulled away. He considered the statement for a moment and then answered, "Alright, deal. I will write to McGonagall and tell her I intend on going. I imagine letters will be going out shortly; we will be able to do our school shopping together."

Malfoy took a step back, lacing his fingers into Harry's as they began walking towards the Leaky Cauldron and mused with a wry grin, "I wonder if returning students will be allowed to try out for Quidditch? It would be quite fun to play against you again."

Harry grinned. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because we’re dating. If we’re allowed to play, I will absolutely continue to beat you every game. But I’ll be sure to make it up to you afterwards.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at the blond as they walked through the door into the Leaky.

Draco rolled his eyes at the insinuation and answered quietly enough that only Harry could hear, "I'd not be so sure about that. I have a brand new motivation to kick your arse at Quidditch."

Luckily, the Leaky Cauldron was rather empty. It was early in the day in the middle of the week; certainly not the highest foot traffic time for the pub. There were still plenty of people there to gawk at them as they made their way through, however, Malfoy trailing just a step behind the Gryffindor. They did not pause at the bar, instead making their way directly out back to access Diagon Alley through the wall in the alley behind the pub.

Diagon Alley was slowly but surely beginning to resemble the shopping district it had once been. The boarded up windows were gone, and all of the shops were beginning to fill up once again, though many had new proprietors.

Malfoy brought one hand up to tap his chin thoughtfully before suggesting, "We should be able to get large swathes of fabric at Twilfitt and Tattings. My mother has always been a good customer there, so there is also a chance they will be fairly receptive to me showing my face in their shop."

“Fine by me,” Harry answered with a shrug. “You’re the expert! I’m just here to look pretty and pay for things. Well, and to tell you ‘no’ if you pick out anything stupidly posh.”

Draco smirked at the response and steered them in the direction of the shop, doing his best to keep his eyes focused forward and ignore the staring from other shoppers that were milling about the street. It was something that he now realized Potter had dealt with everywhere he went from the first moment he had been introduced to the Wizarding World. It had to be incredibly exhausting for him

Now that they were officially a couple, it also dawned on him that he was likely to be caught in the man's limelight from here on out. The realization had him immediately self-conscious about how out in the open they were at the moment, and without thinking about it, he donned a refined and camera-ready mask, unsure if Rita Skeeter or any of her lackeys might be around any corner.

Once inside the shop, he felt slightly more at ease, the task of picking out fabrics there to occupy most of his attention. The shopkeepers at Twilfitt and Tattings were more than all right with them being there, particularly with the large order that he and Harry seemed to be setting up. The proprietors were a pragmatic couple, firmly believing that the ability to pay for goods was the only thing that really mattered about a customer.

The blond held up a swatch of plush, dark grey fabric, running it between his fingers before offering it to Harry, asking, "What do you think of this one? With the light walls, some darker furniture would be good, I think. We can look into a light rug and accent pillows to go with."

Harry took the fabric and looked at it consideringly. After a moment, he shrugged. “Seems fine to me? It’s soft, which is nice. Maybe some lighter things too though? There are…” he paused to think, “two chairs, a normal sofa, and one of those weird one armed sofas in that room. So maybe like, this color for the sofas and another for the chairs? Does that make sense?” He looked to his boyfriend for confirmation, having a vague idea of what he liked himself but completely unsure of what was considered stylish or even normal. He’d never actually decorated a space before. The Dursleys had only ever given him Dudley’s old things, and his room at Hogwarts had been fully furnished and decorated. The only things he’d done to Grimmauld Place before Draco stepped in were to clean out the dust and cursed objects and use some spells he’d learned from Mrs. Weasley to freshen up a couple of sets of bedsheets from a musty old linen cabinet. The kitchen was cheery, but only because Kreacher had gotten it back up to snuff when they’d been staying at the house during the Horcrux search.

"A chaise lounge," Draco supplied helpfully with a nod as he thought. "All right," he said after a few moments’ thought, grabbing another color of the same plush fabric in a nearly white tone that would look nice with the paint. "We can do your chairs in the light fabric and lounge and sofa in dark, with opposite accents on both to tie them in. And then as you are actually adding in decorations, you can add bits of accent colors so that it does not seem so… cold."

“That… sounds fine?” Harry said uncertainly. “I definitely want it to feel cozy, not cold. I just want to have a space that’s nice to be in. When you say accents, you mean like rugs and curtains and things?”

"Exactly," Draco replied casually, sensing his boyfriend’s discomfort and determined to put him at ease, "and things like artwork, perhaps some flowers or other plants to bring some life into the room. What you want from what we are doing now is just a good _starting point._ Creating a good, basic canvas to begin with, and then make the space your own. We are making a space that is grey-scale at the moment, so it leaves a lot of options for you to personalize it. Hell, you could get a giant decorative snitch to put on the wall and then add little splashes of gold and yellow, or get some nice Gryffindor art and do the same with red and gold. Any theme you want to go with you can make work with what we will put together."

“Okay,” Harry said, handing the fabric swatch back to Draco and running a hand through his messy curls. “Thank you. Sorry I’m so useless at this!” He tried to laugh it off, well out of his comfort zone but not wanting to ruin their day. “Plants could be nice. Maybe I’ll get Neville to help. And I bet Luna would make me some art if I asked.” As he thought more about it, he considered more ways he could involve his friends to make his house feel like home. “Dean’s an artist as well, and Hermione knits, maybe she would make, like, a blanket or something? To have on the sofa? Something soft to curl up with.”

"I think those sound like lovely ideas," Draco agreed, heart clenching, as he used his wand to withdraw several large rolls of the fabric off the shelves and float them over to the counter where a well-dressed witch began to ring them up. "I think that it would be great to get your friends to help out with making your house reflect who you are as a person. Especially since you find self reflection to be so challenging.” Here, he smirked at Harry. “They probably know you a bit better than you know yourself."

Harry chuckled. “I feel like I should be offended, but honestly, you’re not wrong.” He paid the sales witch and thanked her, taking the now-shrunken bag of fabric. “I don’t think there’s anything else we need while we’re here,” he told Draco. “Do you want to have lunch at the Leaky? It didn’t seem too crowded, so we might not get hassled too much. Or we could go somewhere Muggle, if you want a bit more privacy.” Harry himself was torn. On the one hand, he sort of liked the idea of being seen out with Draco again, now that they were actually dating. He hated knowing that his boyfriend was getting hassled when he tried to go out on his own and figured if he was ever going to use his fame to his advantage, now was a good time. On the other hand, he still hated feeling like a tourist attraction. People felt _entitled_ to him in a way that made him distinctly uncomfortable, and it had gotten far worse since the war.

Draco paused in thought as he held the door open for the other boy and followed him out onto the street, meandering vaguely in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron alongside him. He had intentionally not given Harry many details about the harassment that he had suffered the last time he had attempted to go into the Leaky Cauldron on his own, but the side of his head and his jaw ached where they had connected with the bar at the memory of it.

Still, he knew that he was not likely to receive the same reception with Harry at his side, and the thought nagged at him that the best thing he could do for his pride might be to appear unaffected by the last experience.

The blond moved directly next to Potter and took his arm gently as he mused aloud, "We could eat at the Leaky Cauldron, I suppose. They do have a rather good cottage pie that I would not mind. But I’m not set on the idea. If you'd rather go somewhere else, we can."

“The Leaky’s fine,” Harry agreed, willfully tamping down the butterflies in his gut. He couldn’t hide from the Wizarding public forever. “I could go for fish and chips,” he added stalwartly. They meandered onward, stopping briefly outside Quality Quidditch Supplies to look at the new models of racing brooms. “Reckon I should get a new broom soon,” Harry pondered. “I lost my Firebolt during one of the first attacks last summer. I’d like to have a new one in case they let us back onto the Quidditch teams. Or even if they don’t, really. I miss flying.”

Draco looked at the brooms and various pieces of Quidditch gear displayed in the window of the shop, one eyebrow raising with intrigue at the statement. He was, after all, in need of a birthday present for the other boy. A broom was certainly something he would enjoy. _And then proceed to absolutely destroy me at Quidditch with_ , an irritating voice inside his head supplied.

He gave a derisive sniff and responded in the most bored drawl he could manage, "These brooms are very last season. I would not waste your galleons. I have a catalog you can look through instead."

With a shrug, Harry turned from the window. “You’re probably right. It’s not urgent anyway. Besides, I’m famished.” The two boys picked up their pace and arrived at the Leaky Cauldron not long after. “Hey, Tom,” Harry greeted as they approached the bar.

“Harry Potter!” Tom greeted cheerfully. “You look well.” Harry liked Tom; as the keeper of the gateway to Wizarding London, he got all sorts through his pub, and therefore wasn’t easily starstruck.

“Thanks,” Harry replied with a smile. “Could we get an order of fish and chips, a cottage pie, and…” he looked to Draco for confirmation, “two butterbeers?” he asked the other boy.

The blond nodded in confirmation, giving a softly spoken, "Thank you," to Tom at the bar. He turned his head to see if there were any free seats at the back of the pub, but it seemed that they were all full, leaving the pair stuck with sitting either in the middle of the room, or in the corner by the window. Draco decided that while the window was not exactly ideal, they would at least be able to keep their backs to a wall, allowing them to keep an eye on the whole of the pub — they would be far less likely to be surprised there, at least.

Draco nodded his head in the direction of the window booth. "That’s probably our best bet, I'm afraid."

Harry looked around the room and then grimaced and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, it filled up a bit more than I’d expected. But I feel better by a window than out in the open like that,” he confessed, gesturing at the central tables and echoing Draco’s unspoken thoughts. “Oh, well, the worst that will probably happen if we’re in a window is that someone will take a picture and we’ll end up in the Prophet again. And we’re _adorable_ together, you said so yourself, so we can just clip and save whatever they come up with and start a scrapbook of our press clippings.” Here, Harry gave the other boy a mischievous grin and a wink.

The blond flushed slightly at the wink and rolled his eyes as he led them toward the seats by the window. "I would almost think that you enjoy that prospect, Potter," he teased. In a playfully droll voice, he added, "Did you want to come here just to show me off?"

Harry raised a challenging eyebrow. “What if I did?” he flirted back.

Draco gave an amused chuckle as he sat down, purposefully taking the seat directly next to the window in order to shield Harry a bit, and proceeded to pull the other boy onto the bench beside him, leaving the other half of their table unoccupied. "Well, I doubt that Tom will be too thankful if we put on _too_ much of a show for the public,” he replied, “but I will do my best to look pretty and doe-eyed for your photo op."

Snorting in amusement, Harry followed Draco’s lead and slid into the seat next to him, slinging his arm around the other boy’s shoulders, acting as though it was no big deal even though his heart was pounding. It was still so new, sitting close to Draco like this, being able to touch him and kiss him. He wondered if the novelty would wear off or if it would always give him the warm glow it did at the moment. He rather thought the latter.

The two boys chatted about nothing in particular until their food and drinks were delivered and then proceeded to tuck in. They had only just begun eating, however, when the first camera flash went off outside the window, followed by the telltale purple smoke. Harry tensed. Despite his casual joking, he still hated being photographed, especially without permission and when he was just trying to go about his day. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to just continue his meal, but the food that had been so satisfying a moment before now tasted like dust.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured to Draco, feeling frustrated and useless. “It’s always happened every now and then, but it’s so much worse now. I’m surprised we made it this long.”

The flash of the camera had startled Draco just slightly, and he groaned at the thought of a picture of him shoving cottage pie in his mouth being on the front page of the Prophet. Certainly not the most flattering of things. He turned to face the other boy and tried to make light of the situation. "It will be such a dastardly headline: 'The Boy Who Lived Twice Eats Fish and Chips.’ You should really stop living such a scandalous life, Potter."

Despite his joking, Draco knew that any headline was far more likely to be about how Harry had fallen from grace and would stoop as low as to dine with a Death Eater. Draco sighed and reached out for Harry's hand, this time not startled when the camera flash went off outside the window. In a quieter voice, he said, "We knew this was bound to happen. Whatever that devil-woman is doing, try not to let it put you off your lunch." With a slight laugh, he added, "You said you wanted to show me off anyway, right?

Squeezing the hand in his, Harry gave a half smile. “Yeah,” he exhaled. “All right, let's just eat and ignore them. Fancy coming back to Grimmauld for a bit after, though? I could use a real drink, preferably somewhere there won’t be a front page spread about how I handle my liquor.”

With a smile of his own, Draco nodded as he turned back to his own meal. "I could certainly be open to that." He took a sip of his butterbeer, a drink that — while delicious — was certainly not strong enough to make up for dealing with Rita Skeeter. As he set the mug down, he observed wryly, "From what I have seen, you handle your liquor just fine. Though, I might recommend against any further experimental spell work. We made a right mess of your foyer."

The comment succeeded in getting a genuine grin out of Harry. “That was a disaster,” he agreed. “I’ve still got to figure out what to do about Walburga. She’s still just… dangling there.”

Draco had already opened his mouth to respond when a horribly familiar face slid into the empty seat across from the pair. This time, no longer surrounded by Muggles, the cursed Quick Quotes Quill was also in attendance and already poised over a piece of parchment hovering over Rita Skeeter’s right shoulder.

“Well, hello, boys, what a nice surprise!” she simpered, her eyes glinting. “Out for a little date, are we? Flaunting your preferences for the world to see, Harry? Is this, perhaps, a rebellion in the face of a world who sees you only as the Boy Hero who can do no wrong?”

Harry groaned and resisted the urge to hit his head against the surface of the table. “For fuck’s sake, Skeeter, can’t you just let us eat in peace?”

The quill above Rita's shoulder started scribbling wildly as the journalist replied with a sickly sweet smile, "My, my. Such language and hostility, Mr. Potter! Could it be that already your association with Dark wizards is rubbing off on you, turning our Saviour into a bitter and hateful man?"

Draco scoffed lightly and leaned forward just a bit as he replied, "Ms. Skeeter, while I can appreciate the fact that you have a job to do, you cannot possibly expect any person to react positively to having their meal interrupted by someone who wants to smear them in print. Your tactics do not foster any kind of genuine insight; and, seeing as Mr. Potter has acquaintances at other publishing firms with whom he would likely be far more willing to conduct an actual interview, I would recommend treading lightly with any insinuations you make, lest your credibility be brought under scrutiny."

Skeeter’s gaze turned flinty. “And you, Mr. Malfoy. I’m surprised; in the past, you’ve been so _cooperative_ with the press when it came to Mr. Potter!” A flash of surprise crossed the journalist’s face when the response to this was a snort of laughter from Harry.

“Merlin, I’d forgotten about that! You two were quite cozy fourth year, weren’t you?” He grinned at Malfoy, and then turned on Skeeter, the grin taking on a menacing air. “Too bad for you, Rita, that reminds me just HOW you got so cozy.” He tapped a finger against his butterbeer glass. “I got to know Minister Shacklebolt pretty well during the war. I wonder how he’d feel about an unregistered animagus in the press? He’s very keen to keep people from stirring up trouble right now.”

He slipped an arm around Draco’s waist and met the glare Skeeter was giving him with an icy stare. “If I were you, I wouldn’t print anything about either of us without having it fact checked _very_ carefully ahead of time. Now leave us alone before I decide I need to drop in on Kingsley.”

At Harry's sudden shift in tone, and the way that his words made Skeeter positively balk, Draco could not resist snickering behind one hand. In a huff, Rita gathered her things and stormed from the table. When she was out of earshot, Malfoy raised a brow at his companion and stated, "That was rather devious of you, Potter. Are you entirely certain that you weren't meant to be in Slytherin?"

“Oh, I almost was, haven’t I told you?” Harry responded with a glimmer in his eye that indicated that he knew full well he hadn’t. “But I’d met this _total_ prat before I got to school who told me he was definitely going to be in Slytherin, so I begged the hat not to make me go there.” He grinned.

Draco's eyebrows shot up at the first statement, but at the second, he rolled his eyes hard enough that it was surprising it did not give him a headache. "Well, perhaps the world should thank that _total prat_ for dissuading you. Gods know it would have been a disaster to _actually_ have you in Slytherin house. Though, who knows, perhaps I would have convinced you to snog me much earlier and dorm life would have been more interesting."

Harry laughed. “Are you kidding? You would’ve hated me even more for beating you out for Seeker on the Quidditch team.” He pulled Draco into his side and rested his forehead on the other boy’s temple, breathing in the spicy smell of whatever hair products he used. “Come on,” he said, a smile in his voice. “Let’s finish up and get out of here. We can snog all we want at my place, with the bonus of not having to worry about dorm mates interrupting."

Draco chuckled softly, pressing into the touch for just a moment before straightening up and pondering, "I’m a decent Chaser, too. I only really went for Seeker _specifically_ because you were the Gryffindor Seeker. We could have wound up on the same team. Either that, or I could have been an adorable cheerleader in the stands, soaking up the glory of dating the star Seeker. I was quite creative with my arts and crafts for rooting against you. Imagine what I could have come up with if I actually wanted to see you win."

He then cast a mischievous smirk at the other and added, "And the potential of getting _caught_ snogging in the dorm rooms would have been nearly as fun as the act itself. Though, I am not disappointed in the idea of sneaking into Gryffindor tower this year."

Harry smirked in return. “Can’t wait. In the meantime, though...” Sliding out of his seat, he pulled the other boy after him. Without another word, he led them both to the designated apparition point before promptly transporting then back to his home on Grimmauld Place.

Draco offered no resistance as he was pulled after the Gryffindor. While he would not have admitted it, Rita Skeeter had managed to put him off his lunch anyway, and he longed for the privacy and security of Grimmauld Place — a thought which he likely should have found hilarious, seeing as the whole place was the stuff of nightmares.

As soon as they landed in the half-finished parlour, Harry wrapped his arms around the blond boy’s waist and pulled him close. He was suddenly jittery with nerves and the urge to be closer. The shopping trip, being out in public for so long, and being cornered by Skeeter had left him off kilter, and he craved the outlet of wrapping himself up in Draco, the way he knew it would overtake his mind and keep him from dwelling on his discomfiture. “I really want to snog you right now,” he confessed. “Can I?”

At Harry’s request, the blond gave a self-satisfied smirk and let his own arms drape lazily over the other boy's shoulders, his hands clasping together behind the Gryffindor's head. "Obviously. I have wanted you to all afternoon."

Shivering, Harry let out a noise that might have been a whimper and melted against the other boy, kissing him fiercely. He ran his hands up Draco’s back, pulling them even tighter together as he nipped at his bottom lip.

The Slytherin gave a soft moan in response to the passionate kiss, wrapping his arms more firmly around the Gryffindor and letting one hand come up to tangle in the boy's hair, giving it a playful tug.

Hissing at the sharp sensation, Harry bit the blond’s lip harder before soothing it with his tongue and seeking entrance to his mouth. All he wanted in the world at this moment was to keep kissing Draco Malfoy. It was the strangest feeling, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

Draco parted his lips as he was prompted to, pressing himself firmly against Harry's chest as he let his let his tongue slide playfully against the one that had just found its way into his mouth. It was truly bizarre, that after everything that had happened between them, they could end up here, wrapped up in one another, pawing at each other like eager schoolboys (which, given their recent decisions about Hogwarts, he supposed they were).

He let his hands tangle more fully into Harry's already disheveled locks, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss with a soft moan. He had been thinking about Harry's lips on his since the moment that he had last left Grimmauld Place, so much so that he was almost starting to feel rather pathetic. Now that it was happening, he had two very distinct thoughts: that it was very worth the wait, and that it was not nearly enough.

In a moment of reckless bravery, Draco let his hands slip from the Gryffindor's hair, gripping the fabric of his shirt firmly as he suddenly retreated from the kiss and proceeded to shove Harry back, where he dropped onto the still-drop-cloth-covered couch. With a smirk, Draco shrugged out of his jacket and climbed on top of the other boy, settling onto Potter's lap with his knees on either side of the boy's hips, before ducking forward to begin pressing kisses and not so gentle bites to the throat of the Boy Who Lived.

Harry gasped as Draco took control. “Fuck,” he groaned, gripping onto the Slytherin’s hips for dear life as his neck was attacked enthusiastically. The sensations were overwhelming, and he was having trouble forming coherent thoughts.

“Harry, mate, I wanted to ask y — MERLIN AND MORGANA, I DIDN’T NEED TO SEE THAT. GOD, MY _EYES_.”

Harry jolted, almost knocking Draco to the floor as Ron Weasley’s shrieks disturbed what had been, up until then, a rather promising moment. Harry flopped his head backward onto the sofa’s back with a groan, rolling his eyes backward to see his best friend standing in the hall doorway, hand clutched over his eyes.

“Ron, what the fuck are you doing here?” he asked in exasperation.

Ron whimpered. “I can’t talk to you when you’ve got a Malfoy on your lap. Can you move him? Please?”

Draco's head had shot up in surprise at the sound of Weasley's voice, but he found that he was far too irritated to even be embarrassed that he had just been caught in a rather compromising position. He leaned back, settling onto Harry's thighs as the redhead spoke. Looking over Harry’s shoulder at the intruder, he addressed the freckled git with a raised brow, "You know _he_ can hear you, yes?"

Ron made a pained sound. Harry snickered. “Ron, for fuck’s sake. Can you just ask your question and leave? We were kind of in the middle of something.”

“Mate, I honestly cannot think of a single thing I needed. My brain is scarred.”

“Then could you leave? Please? Send Pigwidgeon if you remember.”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna… go home and drink.” Ron turned, bumping into the doorway before making his way out, never uncovering his eyes.

Harry heard the sound of the Floo shortly thereafter and snorted, flopping his head back forward to look at Draco, tightening his hands on the blond’s hips. “What was that you were saying about the thrill of possibly getting caught?”

Draco chuckled as he turned back to Harry and replied with amusement, "I thought the _threat_ of it could be exciting, but if I’m being honest, I assumed we would make it past the second time properly snogging before it actually happened."

The blond brought one hand up to gently brush some of Potter's hair off his brow with delicate fingers as he added, "Also, he is a dramatic one, isn't he? He could have walked in on something far more scandalous."

Harry hummed happily and let his eyes drop closed at the soft fingers stroking across his forehead and into his hair. “Oh, Merlin, if I tell him _you_ think he’s dramatic, he’s going to threaten to throw himself off of something. And then, you know, not actually do it, because he’s dramatic as hell, but he’s got NO follow through.” He opened his eyes again and grinned up at the boy still perched on his lap. “I do like the idea of ‘more scandalous’ though.”

The Slytherin grinned back down at the other boy, looking rather smug. He straightened up, worrying his lower lip between his teeth and replying with great amusement, "I thought you might, Mr. Potter." He leaned forward, trailing a few kisses along the Gryffindor's jaw and pausing to ask in a soft and low whisper, "What do you have in mind?"

It took Harry a moment to respond, basking in the feel of Draco’s warm breath against his skin. Eventually, he turned his head toward the other boy, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. “Fucked if I know, I just want to keep touching you.” He slid his hands lightly under the hem of the Slytherin’s shirt, trailing his fingers softly over warm skin. “Is this okay?”

Draco hummed pleasantly at the feeling of Harry's hands tracing along the curve of his waist. He leaned back and gave a nod, moving his hands to begin slowly unfastening his shirt, "It is more than okay."

“Fuck,” Harry breathed as the blond began to unbutton himself. Holding tight to the other boy’s waist, he leaned forward and kissed his breastbone where the shirt had begun to part. He reveled in the small goosebumps he could see rising where his breath hit bare skin. Sliding his hands further up, he let his palms curve around ribs, his fingertips dancing along the neat dip of Draco’s spine. Looking up at the blond head above him, he gave a shaky grin. “Just so we’re clear, you know I have no idea what I’m doing, right?”

Draco laughed, but there was no malice in it. "It is always my assumption that you have no idea what you are doing." He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, letting it gracefully drop as he admitted, "My own experience is rather limited as well, but I have always been a quick study."

Harry grinned before dropping his eyes to the newly bared skin in front of him. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured, running his hands up and down the pale chest. He traced the thin scars left by his sixth-year recklessness, feeling the slight difference in texture of the skin, before skimming his fingers over the other boy’s nipples, watching in fascination as they hardened. From there, he traced up along pronounced clavicles and then over thin shoulders. “You’re so beautiful.”

Draco had never been one to turn down a compliment, and he certainly wasn't going to now. Especially not the sweet and nearly awestruck ones falling from Harry Potter's lips. His rival, his crush, his enemy, his saviour, and now his friend and so much more.

He could not begin to count the number of times that he had imagined Harry touching him like this, though in the past, the thoughts had often been coupled with self-loathing for entertaining such ludicrous fantasies. He could not have imagined that he would ever actually be here, settled in the boy's lap while he touched him and looked at him like he was something precious.

He let his hands rest on Harry's chest, slowly slipping them down until he was able to grip the hem of the t-shirt that Potter wore. He lifted his eyes and asked softly, "May I?"

Harry nodded, lifting his arms to allow Draco to pull his tee over his head. Everything about this experience was surreal and wonderful. It was so different than things had been with Ginny, but it felt so much more significant in ways he couldn’t quite explain to himself. Fooling around with Ginny had always been light and flirtatious. They’d never gotten as far as getting any clothes off, owing to the entirety of their relationship taking place not only during the school year, but also only in the small gaps of time Harry had had available between classes and detentions and — if he was honest — stalking Draco Malfoy, but what they _had_ done had felt sweet and soft. This felt weightier, somehow. He and Draco had overcome so much to get to this point.

Draco worked the shirt off of Harry's frame in a single delicate motion before tossing it carelessly to the floor. Once the shirt had been discarded, Draco sat back to simply take in the sight before him. He let his fingers trail along the boy's chest, admiring the way that his own pale skin contrasted so brilliantly against the rich and deliciously golden tones of the other. There were plenty of scars along his frame, disrupting the otherwise smooth expanse, but they only made him all the more stunning in Draco’s mind.

He leaned in to press a quick and gentle kiss to the Gryffindor's lips before beginning to trail his affections downward along Harry's neck and then his chest as he replied between kisses, " _You_ are gorgeous, Potter."

Harry flushed, both at the compliment and at the feel of Draco’s lips on his bare skin. He felt hot and cold all over. His moved his hands around to the pale boy’s back, flattening his palms on the expanse of skin, breathing shallowly. When he couldn’t take the soft tease of Draco’s kisses anymore, he moved one hand to Draco’s chin, slotting their mouths back together as he pulled the other boy forward again, bringing their bare chests flush to one another. Harry moaned into the Slytherin’s mouth at the sensation of skin on skin. He thought maybe it shouldn’t be this intense; he thought maybe he was on fire. He slid his tongue against Draco’s, just wanting to be closer — always closer.

When Harry kissed him, Draco practically melted at the feeling of warmth radiating from the boy. He had always run fairly cold, but it was like Harry had a warming charm radiating off of him. He returned the kiss with exuberance, parting his lips to give the boy full access to kiss him as deeply as he wanted. He slowly worked his hands back up to tangle in Harry's mane of hair and rolled his hips experimentally against the other.

At the feeling of the other boy moving against him, Harry thought he might actually die. “Fucking Christ,” he muttered, pulling back from the kiss to meet Draco’s gaze with glassy eyes. “Do that again.” Instead of waiting for an answer, he returned to the kiss, moving his hands to Draco’s waist to help him rock against Harry’s lap. He was achingly hard inside his jeans, and the pressure and movement against him was intoxicating and terrifying all at once.

Draco did not even have time to be smug about his actions before he was being kissed again with even greater fervor. He began to move steadily against the other boy’s lap, shifting his hips in a languid movement not all that different from belly dancing. Each movement brought with it a delectable friction that had him moaning into the kiss and tightening his grip on the Gryffindor's hair. After a few minutes of steady movement, Draco needed to pull back from the kiss to catch his breath, which became a desperate panting as he pressed his forehead against Harry's and whimpered, "Oh god."

Harry’s eyes clenched shut as Draco broke the kiss. He’d barely been able to hold himself back, and the whimpered exclamation from the boy on his lap pushed him over the edge. “Draco, FUCK,” he bit out, and then he was coming, gritting his teeth as he felt the wetness pulse inside his pants.

The blond gasped loudly as Harry's grip on him tightened, hips rocking upward as Potter climaxed then and there. The deep and gravelly tone the boy's voice took on and the way that he rutted against him so desperately had Draco quickly joining him. Malfoy came with a breathy shout, shifting his hands to cling desperately to the boy's shoulders as his legs began to subtly quiver from the sensation of his orgasm.

Malfoy let his head rest in the crook of Harry's neck as he tried to catch his breath and muttered simply, "Bloody hell."

Slumping against Draco, Harry began to giggle as endorphins flooded his system. “Oh my god,” he laughed. “Fuck. I suppose that’s what they mean when they talk about coming in your pants like a horny teenager?” He kissed Draco’s shoulder, running his hands up and down the other boy’s back. “That was amazing,” he murmured into the soft skin. “You’re amazing.”

Malfoy replied with a groggy chuckle of his own and nodded against Harry's shoulder, "That is _precisely_ what they mean." He shifted his head just enough to press his own soft kisses against the Gryffindor's neck and added, "It was _really_ amazing. I’m glad we decided to come back here after lunch."

Harry grinned into Draco’s shoulder, biting him lightly and then kissing the skin his teeth had grazed. “Me, too. This was definitely better than dealing with Rita Skeeter.” He pulled back so that he could see Draco’s face. He was flushed and disheveled, and Harry thought he looked perfect. He moved his fingers up into untidy blond locks, brushing them back into some semblance of order, and marveling at how easily the soft strands fell back into place. He ran his thumbs over the thin, barely visible brows of the pale boy, tracing over his temples and then down over his prominent cheekbones. “I feel like I’ve wanted to touch you forever,” he confessed. “I can’t believe it took me this long to understand. I’m so thick sometimes; it’s a wonder anyone puts up with me.” He moved his hands to trace the curves of Draco’s ears and then trailed gently down his long neck.

The comment brought a smirk to Draco's lips, and he mused, "If you weren't so oblivious, you would lose several points of your overall endearing factor." The Slytherin lifted his head, straightening up his back as he added sincerely, "And, honestly, you were worth waiting for while you sorted things out.” The smirk returned as he continued, “Perhaps, next time, I will just spell it out for you, though. That was a _lot_ of years to wait."

“Next time, huh?” Harry asked with raised brows. “Do you plan on wiping my memory of this and starting again? Because I’m really not keen on that, just in case you were wondering”

"No," Draco corrected with a smirk, "I meant next time I have to tell you anything with any kind of emotion attached to it. Especially if it involves you figuring out a feeling. I will also send it in writing over to Granger, so she can walk you through it."

“Well, that’s just…” Harry gave a faux grimace. “Okay, I won’t say UNNECESSARY, but it’s rude to point it out. Even if I did say it first.” He shivered slightly, realizing that they were both still shirtless and sporting rather damp trousers. “Alright, up you get, I need to do a cleaning charm before this dries and feels even worse than it’s starting to now. Also, I’m cold, and I want my shirt. Do you want anything to drink? Water? Tea? Firewhiskey?”

Draco snorted with laughter but proceeded to climb out of Harry's lap and moved to pick up his jacket, extracting his wand from the pocket and flicking it twice to clean them both up. "Firewhiskey would be lovely, Pookie." He replied with a grin as he grabbed his own shirt. For a moment, he almost moved to put it back on, but then it was as if a lightbulb went off in his head, and he said, with perhaps the widest smile he had ever worn, "Wait, you promised me a boyfriend sweater. Gimme."

Harry laughed. “Demanding much?” He stretched, raising his arms behind his back before pulling his t-shirt back on. “Come on then, I’ll show you your options.” Once again guiding the blond boy up to his room, Harry pulled out the second drawer from the top on his bureau and dug around. “Let’s see. We’ve got… Gryffindor lion,” he tossed a red sweater with a gold lion on the front toward Draco; “dragon,” a green sweater emblazoned with a black dragon followed the red; “or… white with a green H.” He tossed the last option Malfoy’s way.

Malfoy laughed as each of the sweaters soared through the air to him, catching each of them until his arms were completely full. When Harry was done almost emptying the drawer, the blond practically bounced happily over to the bed, climbing onto it and laying out all the options in front of himself. It took him what was quite frankly a ridiculous amount of time to make his choice as he tested each of the fabrics in his hands and held each one up against himself. He even went so far as to try each one on, leaving them on for only a matter of seconds before pulling each back over his head and moving on to the next. Eventually, he slipped on the sweater with the dragon — having known since the instant he saw it that it was the one he was going to choose — and said, "All right. This one."

Harry leaned back against his bureau with his arms crossed, watching fondly as Draco modeled the sweaters. The blond bounced around excitedly, like a child in a toy store, and Harry couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across his face. The idea that someone wanted something of his to wear around, not because he was The Boy Who Lived, but just because he was Harry, made his chest feel oddly tight. When Draco finally settled on the green sweater with the dragon on it (which, Harry suspected, had been inevitable), Harry assessed him with an attempt at a serious expression. “Hmmm. I don’t know, is green really your colour?”

With a smirk, Malfoy climbed off the bed and made his way over to the other as he replied, "I am rather fond of green, yes. But, _most importantly,_ this one is a bit bigger than the others." He wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders and said with a grin, "Thank you for letting me borrow your sweater, Pookie."

Harry ran his hand up and down Draco’s now sweater-clad back. “You’re welcome, Boyfriend.” He smiled and kissed the other boy softly on his nose and then his lips.

Two days later, it was time for Draco to face Hermione and Ron. Harry hoped that it wouldn’t be even more awkward due to Ron’s unfortunate drop-in on Wednesday (He had never owled, so presumably he either hadn’t needed anything important or had obliviated the afternoon from his memory.). Harry was nervously puttering around the parlor, setting out firewhiskey and glasses and snacks. Ron was always happier when he had something to eat; the firewhiskey would help all of them relax, Harry hoped. The parlour looked odd and unfinished at the moment, the bright white walls bare of decoration and oddly juxtaposed against the fusty velvet covering the furniture. Harry had removed the drop cloths, feeling like that helped everything look a little less odd, but it was still not the most welcoming of spaces. Still, it was what he had, so he tried not to worry about it. _They’ve seen worse,_ he reminded himself.

It had been a stressful morning in the guesthouse of Malfoy Manor as Draco worked through what he was going to wear. While there was a part of him reminding himself that it was just Granger and Weasley, another part acknowledged that that was the entire problem. These were the two people who meant the absolute most to his boyfriend, and also two of the people he had tormented most consistently in school for that very reason.

He ended up settling on a soft grey cashmere sweater, tight black jeans, and boots. It was really too hot to be sweater weather, but he figured that the long sleeves would be appreciated by all parties. Once he had managed to finally get ready, he made his way off of the Manor grounds and apparated to Grimmauld Place, trying to ignore the nervous fluttering in his chest as he knocked on the door.

Harry had barely ushered the blond inside before he enveloped him in a tight hug. “Why am I freaking out about this?” he muttered into Draco’s hair. “It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be fine, right?”

Malfoy returned the hug just as tightly and replied in a quiet, nervous voice, "It will be fine. The worst thing that could happen is that they decide to continue hating me, which… would be fair. But hopefully they are willing to at least give it a chance."

Harry nodded, breathing the scent of his boyfriend in before releasing him. “Okay. Come on in. They should be here soon.”

Shortly, they heard the sound of the Floo from the kitchen. “Harry?” Ron’s voice called cautiously. “Is it safe for us to come through, or am I going to find something scarring again?”

Harry snorted, instantly more at ease. “Get in here, you git,” he called back. “We’re in the parlour.”

A few moments later, Ron and Hermione entered. Ron had his eyes half-closed, as though afraid of what he might see. Hermione looked stiff and nervous, but her face was set with a determination with which Harry was very familiar. “Hi, Harry,” she greeted warmly, hugging him. Then, “Draco,” she said, holding out her hand to shake, “you look well.”

While he felt as if he had swallowed a ball of lead, Draco managed to step forward, showing no hesitation as he grasped the girl's hand, giving it a light and polite shake. "Same to you, Granger."

The Slytherin turned toward her companion and tentatively offered his hand, almost surprised when Ron took it. "Weasley…" he greeted awkwardly.

The handshake was brief, and Ron quickly stuck his hands in his pockets as he stepped back. An uncomfortable silence began to creep in around them, years of hatred lurking just beneath the surface. Draco rocked back on his heels awkwardly before offering, "Ah… would the two of you care for a heavy handed glass of firewhiskey?”

The comment broke the tension perfectly as Harry snorted and Ron sagged in relief. Hermione permitted herself a small smile as she nodded. “That would be perfect, thank you.”

Harry poured four generous servings of the smoking amber liquid into the waiting tumblers. Distributing the drinks to his friends, he held his glass up, his pre-prepared toast at the ready. “To making new friends and ending old rivalries,” he said. “May we not fuck up as badly as those who came before us.”

“Cheers,” Ron and Hermione agreed, bringing their glasses together.

The Slytherin tentatively raised his own glass, letting it clink gently against the others before he proceeded to down half of it in a single swallow. The feeling of warmth in his chest helped bolster his courage, and he looked up at their companions, stating plainly "I do not want to fuck this up, but I am well aware that I have not given either of you any reason to trust me, let alone like me.

"I was absolutely repulsive to the both of you. I said and did things that I truly wish I could take back." He lowered his eyes to the cup in his hands, his sudden surge of bravery quickly faltering. "I have never been a good person, and no one in their right mind would blame you for not accepting an apology from me. But please know that I don't feel the same way that I used to and that I am really, truly sorry for being such an insufferable, bigoted, and hateful twat."

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded. “Thank you,” she answered solemnly. “I… can’t say that giving you another chance is going to be easy for me. The things you called me were…” she trailed off, breaking eye contact and taking a bracing sip of her drink. “But I was there at the manor. I saw you decide not to turn us in, and I saw your face when Bellatrix tortured me. It wasn’t the face of someone who believed in what was happening.” She sighed and looked back up. “And Harry trusts you. And I trust Harry. So...” She gave half a shrug, uncharacteristically less than eloquent. It was obvious that she wasn’t quite the fiery girl she had been going into the war. Harry looked on, feeling proud but also helpless, hoping that Hermione would eventually be more herself again.

Ron, meanwhile, nodded. “You were a right git to me and my family,” he said bluntly, “but as long as you don’t hurt Harry, I reckon I can be civil. But if you _do_ hurt him, I’ll kill you.” The look on the redhead’s face was mild, but it was clear that he was not kidding. Ron Weasley was also not the person he had been a year before, and the threat — though it held no heat — was not an idle one. “Fair enough?"

Draco had received enough death threats in the last two years to know that Ron’s assertion was not just a turn of phrase. He had not dared to hope for any kind of warm reception, though, so he took their coolness in stride, regardless of the nervousness twisting in his stomach. He nodded slowly as he pressed a bit closer to Harry's side and replied quietly, "Fair enough."

The four sat down, Hermione and Ron on the chaise, Draco and Harry on the sofa. They sipped quietly at their drinks for a bit, unsure of where to go from the awkward round of apologies. “So,” Hermione eventually said, tentatively breaking the silence and directing herself to Draco. “Harry tells me you’re planning to go back to Hogwarts next month?”

He nodded, "Yes, I am going to go back to finish my N.E.W.T.s. I don't know that I could live with myself if I dropped out… but also, if I am being honest, the extra year of academia before I have to deal with all of the real world adult problems I am going to face is just about as alluring as the diploma. I know that a fair few from our class are intending on going back."

Hermione nodded. “Yes, I expect quite a few people will want a chance to finish their education now that the school is back under _qualified_ leadership. I’m going, obviously, and Harry tells me he plans to as well. Ron…”

“I’m not going back,” Ron cut in, glancing at Harry. “I told George I’d help him keep the shop up. He can’t manage it on his own, and I don’t much fancy trying for Auror after all the fighting we’ve done already. Turns out it wasn’t as thrilling as it was in my head.”

“Cheers to that,” Harry agreed, leaning forward to clink his glass against Ron’s. He hadn’t known that Ron had made up his mind for sure, but he’d had a strong feeling that this was a possibility. He’d miss having Ron at school, but he could hardly judge him for not wanting to go back considering he’d almost decided not to himself. “I’ve had enough fighting for a lifetime. I’m sort of hoping going back to school will help me sort out what to do with myself now that I did what I was supposed to. Reckon it’s better than sitting home, anyway!”

While Draco was surprised that Ron would not be joining them come the start of term, he realized that he didn’t know enough about the boy or what he had personally been through to make any kind of snap judgement about it. There was also a small voice in the back of his mind that said, based on the things that Harry had told him, that it was probably for the best for George Weasley to have one of his brothers around him for a while.

The Slytherin kept his own attention on Granger, asking with genuine curiosity, "Do you have any plans for what you would like to do after the school year? You could probably manage to do just about anything you wanted to."

This made Hermione give a genuine smile. “I’m planning to go into magical law,” she stated confidently. “I don’t like how easily the Ministry gave in to Voldemort’s followers or how the aftermath has been handled. And even before the war, there was all sorts of corruption and prejudice. I want to be able to right those wrongs from the inside.” Her eyes now held the familiar fire that had always defined Hermione Granger. Harry smiled to see it. Hermione’s strong sense of justice and fairness was likely what had landed her in Gryffindor when her intellect could just as easily have placed her in Ravenclaw. It was one of the things he loved most about her, even though it was sometimes taken to inconvenient or annoying extremes. _Maybe she’s not so different after all_ , he thought, relieved.

As soon as she voiced it, Hermione’s answer made perfect sense to the Slytherin. He had watched her and her various forays into political activism over the years. While he could not be bothered with many of her causes at the time (especially as he had been busy mocking her), he could see how she really could put that energy and ambition towards dismantling the system as it currently was. He gave a smile, "It is bound to be much easier to do these days without my father strutting about the Ministry. I imagine that most people will be more willing to change without him and his lackeys pushing their own agenda. I know that my mother has no interest in politics, and I plan on staying as far away from the Ministry as I can manage, so you can look forward to a Malfoy-free workplace."

"That's a relief," Ron muttered over his glass. At a gentle nudge from Hermione's elbow, he added offhandedly, "No offense. Sort of."

The statement brought a half-smile to Malfoy's face as he replied, "None taken. I am well aware that it is long past time for the," he brought his free hand up to do air quotes, "'Sacred Twenty-Eight' to lose their say in things. At least most of them,” he gave a nod to Ron at this statement.

Ron turned a little red, unsure of how to react to what seemed to have almost been a compliment. “I don’t know; I think we could all do without Percy in the Ministry. I’m willing to sacrifice possible Weasley political influence for the chance to make him keep his smug mouth shut.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “I thought Percy made up with the family?”

Ron made a face. “Mum’s forgiven him, so Dad said we had to be decent to him, but he’s always been a git, even before he was a traitor. He’s not likely to change now, is he?”

Harry coughed pointedly. Ron looked up and then realized what he’d said and grimaced in apology at Draco. “Er. No offense. Again.”

Draco polished off the rest of his drink, set the glass down on the coffee table, and replied in a softer and more awkward voice, "None taken… again, I suppose."

The blond took a breath to settle himself and grabbed the bottle of whiskey, filling his glass back up and topping everyone else off as he mused, "As far as your brother goes, I don't know him aside from dealings at the ministry or as a Prefect — but people can surprise you, given the opportunity. I mean, I would have never thought in a million years that I would be sitting down sharing a civil drink with the three of you."

Harry smiled fondly at Draco, pleased with how well he was handling himself. The amount of effort the three people surrounding him were putting in to getting along for his sake gave him an overwhelming sense of warmth and thankfulness.

The four young people sat and chatted together for a couple more hours. Although there were a few awkward pauses and several uncomfortable moments when touchy subjects came up, there were no major incidents, and by the time Hermione and Ron departed, slightly tipsy, they sounded sure when they told Harry and Draco that they thought Sunday would be fine. When the Floo’s green flames had flared and then settled as the couple disappeared, Harry turned to Draco with a smile.

“Not bad, yeah?”

Draco brought his hands up to rub his face wearily as he let out a heavy sigh and replied, "It could have been worse. At least it seems they will be willing to put up with me. It will take a miracle for them to actually want me around though." He dropped his hands and looked up to the other to say softly, "I’ll just keep trying."

Harry stepped up behind the other boy and wrapped his arms around him, resting his head in the dip behind the blond’s shoulder blades. “Give it time,” he said, pressing a kiss to the nape of Draco’s neck. “It took you and me a bit to get from ‘not hostile’ to ‘actually friendly.’”

The Slytherin let his arms drape lightly on top of Harry's, and he let out another sigh, "I suppose so. And it went about as well as we could have hoped for. I mean, the four of us in one room for nearly five hours and not a single wand drawn in anger? That has to beat some kind of record, right?"

“Mmm,” Harry replied, trying to think back. “Were we all in the same room for O.W.Ls? Because if not, I think you might be right in a very literal sense.”

"We had a few exams together," Draco answered as he turned around in Harry's arms. "But none of them were five hours straight. Plus, we couldn't actually talk to each other, so I doubt they count. Also, we had adult supervision."

Harry smirked, moving his hands to clasp either side of Draco’s slim waist. “Since when has adult supervision kept you and me from tormenting each other?”

"Fair," Draco acknowledged as he wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders, "Alright then, I was unlikely to torment you during O.W.L.s because I actually wanted to do well on my exams. Which I did. For the most part."

With a laugh, Harry capitulated. “Fair enough. Swot.” He tipped his head down to kiss the other boy.

Draco let himself melt into the kiss, allowing it to ground him as he leaned heavily on the other boy. When he did pull back from the kiss, he gave the Gryffindor a smile and said softly, "Thank you for being with me through that. It really helped to have you there… but just two of your lot was terrifying. I imagine that Sunday will be even more so. Please don’t abandon me in a house full of Weasleys; I need you as a buffer."

Harry smiled. “Promise,” he murmured, kissing Draco again. “At least it won’t be all of them. Just Molly, Arthur, Ron, Ginny, and George. And Hermione. That… sounds like a lot more when I say it out loud, actually,” he acknowledged, wrinkling his nose.

The blond grimaced at the statement and took another deep breath. After a moment, he said, "It will be fine. It is just a dinner. I can manage. Plus, I am kind of curious to actually _see_ the Weasleys’ house. I have spent years making fun of them for it, but I actually haven't the slightest idea what it looks like."

“Oh, it’s fantastic,” Harry enthused. “It’s my favorite place to be besides Hogwarts. It looks like it’s grown to fit the family, so everything is at weird angles and there are just way too many stairs, but it’s so cozy and welcoming. I love it there.”

"Well, whatever it looks like, it’s bound to be better than either of our horrific households," Draco laughed. He leaned in to press a playful kiss to the corner of Harry's mouth and mused, "It won't be so bad. Quiet Sunday dinner. I can manage that."

On Sunday, Draco decided to wear the sweater that he had stolen from Harry to go meet the Weasleys, hoping in the back of his mind that the absurd sentiment of it all would earn him a few bonus points with the Weasley family — all of whom he was fairly sure he had managed to personally offend at one point or another. He checked his reflection in the mirror no less than ten times on their way out of Grimmauld Place and even went so far as to apply a healthy coat of foundation to his neck to _try_ to cover the hickey that Potter had so graciously given to him just after lunch that day — an act that had been met with outrage, which Harry had frustratingly seemed to find adorable and therefore had not even had the courtesy to act sorry for.

They apparated arm in arm just down the road from the Burrow, choosing to walk up the winding lane to the gate. As they made their way toward the house, the Slytherin gripped Harry's hand tightly and leaned over to him to whisper, "If I pass out, I need you to catch me. And I might."

“Of the two of us, who’s got the history of passing out?” Harry asked under his breath. “You should know; you re-enacted it enough.”

The statement brought a snort of laughter from the Slytherin, who then replied, "Fair enough. But at least all the people here _like you_. You’re my only fan in the whole lot of them."

Before Harry could respond, there was the sound of sprinting footsteps across the grass, and he was tackled from behind by Ginny Weasley, who was obviously being pursued.

“HARRY,” she screeched, laughing and jumping on his back, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Help, Ron’s after me!” Seconds later, Ron came sprinting around the corner, looking murderous and sprouting a long, curly beard and mustache.

“GINNY, GET BACK HERE,” he yelled, tossing his beard over his shoulder so that he didn’t trip over it.

It had taken a moment for Draco to register what exactly had happened in that sudden blur of ginger, but when he had recovered, he fully recognized the image of Harry's ex-girlfriend with her legs wrapped around him and clinging to him for dear life.

A great many emotions went through Draco Malfoy in a very short amount of time: seething anger, profound jealousy, pure outrage, and a fair amount of resentment — all of which likely showed on his face for a moment or two. Luckily, he was cognizant enough to be aware that he was here to meet the Weasleys, and to hopefully win them over. The probability of him being able to do that after hexing the youngest of them was slim to none.

This thought in mind, Draco did his best to put on a neutral expression, implementing many of the skills he had learned while practicing Occlumency in order to appear more or less unphased. Despite this, his grip on Harry's hand became much, _much_ tighter. He looked up to Ron and said, "I do know a good barber, if you need one."

Harry snorted at Draco’s dry comment, noting the boy’s tight grip on his hand and appreciating that he seemed to be keeping his urge to explode contained. “Ginny, get the fuck off; I’m not getting in the middle of a Weasley sibling feud. I don’t have a death wish.” He grumbled and managed to unclasp the petite girl’s wrists from around his neck, forcing her to drop to the ground or risk being dropped on her head.

“You should be on my side!” the redheaded girl yelped indignantly. “Ask him why he’s got the beard!”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Ron, why have you got the beard?”

Ron suddenly looked shifty and refused to meet his eyes. “It’s nothing,” he said guiltily. “I just said…”

“He ‘just said’ that Ginny had been your beard,” Hermione said disapprovingly. “I can see the poetic justice in her response, personally.”

With an annoyed expression, Harry kicked Ron in the shin. “Don’t use my orientation to torment your sister, please, arsehole.”

Ron looked remorseful. “I know, mate, I just couldn’t help myself!” Harry narrowed his eyes, and Ron capitulated. “I’m sorry, okay? I was just winding her up.”

Hermione flicked him in the ear, giving him a disapproving look. “Don’t erase Harry’s bisexuality for your own amusement, Ronald. I’ll make you read educational pamphlets.”

Harry rolled his eyes at his friends and slung his arm around Draco’s waist. “You’re all ridiculous,” he asserted.

Draco relaxed quite a bit when the Weaslette was no longer climbing his boyfriend like a tree and was further reassured by the feeling of Harry's arm around him. He watched the exchange with quiet amusement but raised a brow at Granger and asked, intrigued, "Question. And please, answer me honestly. Did you _actually_ go out and get educational pamphlets about sexual orientation when Potter came out?"

Hermione gave a smug smile. “Of course not. I got them in sixth year when Harry couldn’t stop following you around like a lovesick puppy. I used to leave them sitting around where he might see them, hoping he might read one and figure himself out.”

Harry gaped. “WHAT?!”

Hermione just grinned. Ron cackled.

“I wouldn’t laugh if I were you, little bro,” George called from nearby, where he had evidently been watching the scene unfold. “You’re the one who’s going to have to read them; I reckon Harry’s already sorted himself out. Also, you don’t want to piss off your girlfriend; she’s probably the only one here who can figure out how to reverse that beard spell other than me and Gin, and we’re certainly not telling.” He winked. Ron looked mutinous, but Harry was awash with relief at seeing George enjoying a prank even without Fred by his side. He seemed a bit more himself, though he still looked worn around the edges.

While it was a relief that the group was comfortable enough to joke around and be themselves around him, Draco felt incredibly out of sorts as he stood among them. The lot of them had grown, fought, won, and grieved with one another throughout the whole of their somewhat aborted childhoods and the subsequent war, while he had never been anything but an antagonist in their stories. He was able to look at each and every one of them and recall more than one time that he had said or done terrible things to them. He had gone out of his way to make these people as miserable as he could manage.

He remained quiet, knowing that anything he said would likely be construed as more of the same, even if he meant it in good fun. He didn’t think he had the rapport or the right to try. Instead, he clung to Harry's hand, his one lifeline here.

Leaning into Harry, Draco asked a bit awkwardly, "Should we head inside?"

Overhearing the question, Ginny smirked and said in a stage whisper to her brothers, "Anyone care to make a bet about how long Malfoy lasts today before he has a complete mental breakdown?"

Draco looked at her, his expression flat and neutral, and replied in an even tone, "Ten galleons on an hour. I’ll bet another five that he cries about it."

Ginny’s eyes went wide, and then she grinned and clapped Draco on the shoulder. “All right, Malfoy. You might survive this after all.”

Harry kissed Draco on the temple. “Let’s go in and get you a drink, yeah? I think I could use one as well.”

Draco let out an audible, "Ow," when Ginny slapped his shoulder, much to her amusement, and offered no resistance when he was steered through the door and toward the possibility of alcohol, which he desperately needed. Looking towards Harry as they made their way inside, he commented in a voice that was just slightly strained, "This is much more high energy than what I had anticipated."

Harry laughed. “The Weasleys are like that. It’s all in love.” He led Draco toward the kitchen where Mrs. Weasley puttered away at the stovetop, magically stirring several pots at once. “Hi, Molly,” he greeted her with a smile.

Molly turned around at his voice and smiled broadly. “Hello, Harry! It’s always lovely to see you.” She wrapped him in a warm hug, her floury apron transferring a faint dusting of white to the front of Harry’s shirt. She wiped it from him absently before turning to Malfoy. “Mr. Malfoy,” she greeted formally with a nod in his direction, “Good of you to join us.”

Malfoy followed closely behind the Gryffindor as they made their way through the house, still holding his hand firmly for support. He had not expected anything more than the somewhat cold and formal greeting that he received and appeared unshaken by it as he replied softly, "Thank you for inviting me into your home, Mrs. Weasley."

“Actually, Molly, I was hoping I could grab Draco a drink. He’s not used to his many people at once these days and could use a little boost.”

Molly Weasley immediately went into mothering mode. “Of course, dear!” she exclaimed, bustling the two boys toward the front room where the Weasleys’ modest bar setup was located. “Please, help yourselves to anything. Dinner should be ready in just a bit.”

Harry ushered Draco toward the bar, pulling the stopper from a snifter of a dark purple liquor and sniffing it before shrugging and pouring generous measures into two mismatched tumblers. “Cheers,” he offered to Draco, handing him one of the glasses.

The Slytherin accepted the glass with a grateful smile, clicking it against Potter's cup briefly before knocking it back in a single gulp. He set the cup down with a slight shiver and breathed a heavy sigh as he looked over to the other boy and admitted, "I really hope I don’t mess this up. I never thought I would ever say these words, but I really want the Weasleys to like me."

Harry smiled softly at Draco, pulling him into a hug. “You’re doing great,” he murmured. “I know if feels like a lot, but Ginny wouldn’t bother testing you like that if she was planning to write you off without giving you a chance. And Mrs. Weasley is just really protective of her kids and basically unofficially adopted me when I was eleven. As long as you keep showing them that you care about me and are willing to try to start over with them, I reckon they’ll all warm up to you.”

Draco gave Harry a somewhat nervous smile as he was released from the embrace but turned his head at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Arthur Weasley appeared at the door, wiping his hands with a rag. “Ah, Harry!” he greeted, making his way toward the bar and pouring himself a measure of the purple liquor. “Glad you made it.” He shook the boy’s hand firmly and then turned to Malfoy. “And Draco. I couldn’t help overhearing a bit of that, and Harry is correct. I know our families have a contentious history, but I, for one, am ready to move forward. Your father is being held responsible for his actions, and frankly, I don’t have the will to hold a grudge against a child after everything that has happened. If you have really changed your ways, and you make Harry happy, then you are welcome here.” Taking the decanter, he refilled both Harry’s and Draco’s glasses. “Cheers,” he concluded with a smile that was somehow both kind and bittersweet as he raised his glass to them before taking a gulp and wandering back toward the kitchen to find his wife. Harry watched him go, feeling a tug at his heart. Even the once-boisterous Mr. Weasley had not come through the war unscathed.

Draco had accepted the refilled glass with a nod and then watched Mr. Weasley's departing figure. All of them were trying so very hard in this — to accept him, to support Harry in his decision to be with him. While it was awkward in many respects, the effort there was not lost on Draco. These were good people at their very cores, and they just wanted Harry to be happy, even if it meant having to deal with a Malfoy from time to time.

The Slytherin knocked back his second drink, feeling his body beginning to relax a bit. Whatever this purple stuff was, it was quite potent. Draco set his glass down and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to Harry's cheek. When he pulled back, he assured, picking up their earlier interaction, "I care about you. And I want to start over with your friends and family. I _can_ be a better person, and I want to be. Thank you for being the first person willing to see that."

Harry grinned, feeling slightly flushed from the liquor and from Draco’s soft words and easy affection. “I’m glad to have the chance,” he responded. He gazed at Draco for a moment, drawn in by the silver of his eyes. He wanted desperately to kiss him properly, but doubted that missing dinner to snog would endear either of them to the Weasleys right now. He cleared his throat, breaking eye contact. “All right, we’re properly fortified,” he said, placing a hand at Draco’s back to guide him toward the dining room. “Let’s go brave the madness, shall we?”

As with their drinks with Hermione and Ron, everything went… not exactly smoothly, but not badly, either. Oddly, Ginny was the person who seemed happiest to have Draco there — she continued to tease him throughout dinner, apparently delighted to be able to do so without fear of being jinxed. “I’ve been saving these up for years,” she grinned, after making a comment about Draco’s pointy features, “and now you want me to like you, so you won’t fight back. I’m going to enjoy it until you get comfortable around us.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief, and Harry had to threaten to hex her himself to get her to back off. Otherwise, however, they passed a fairly cordial evening with only slightly stunted conversation.

Mrs. Weasley begged off returning to Grimmauld Place with Harry and Draco after dinner, instead providing Harry with a handwritten set of instructions on upholstery charms. “I feel confident that you can manage without me, between the two of you,” she told Harry as she hugged him goodbye and then turned to hesitantly hug Draco as well. Really, Harry mused, it was the closest to a stamp of approval he could hope for from Molly. “And let me know what you’d like to do for your birthday next week, dear!” she called after them, holding the front door open as they walked toward the boundaries of the property.

“Oh, actually,” Harry said, looking a little hesitant. “I was thinking I might host something at mine? Sort of a… housewarming meets birthday gathering?”

Mrs. Weasley looked at him fondly. “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” she told him, her face soft. “Just owl us, and we’ll be there.”

“Great,” Harry smiled with relief. He hadn’t wanted to offend Molly, but he really wasn’t sure he was up for a Weasley-house level celebration right now, and he had an urge to push forward with making his house feel like a home before school started so that he wouldn’t dread returning to it over the holidays or when he graduated. “Bye, Molly. Thank you.”

“You’re always welcome, dear,” she answered, and on that promising note, the two boys apparated back to Grimmauld Place.

The moment that they appeared back at Harry's house, Malfoy let himself slump against the nearest wall, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. Dinner had been, for all intents and purposes, a complete success. He had managed to get through the evening without saying a single thing to offend any of the Weasleys, and he had been cordial and even witty at moments — certainly on his best behaviour. It had been _exhausting_.

The Slytherin opened his eyes and looked to his boyfriend, stating in a voice that was tired but satisfied, "I think that went rather well."

“It really did,” Harry agreed, exhaling as he released what felt like weeks’ worth of tension. Stepping into Draco’s space, he brushed the fine blond hair back and kissed the Slytherin’s smooth, pale forehead. “Thank you,” he murmured, “for doing that for me. You were perfect.”

Draco hummed softly at the light kiss and let his hands settle gently on Harry's waist as he replied with a smirk tugging at his lips, "Not quite perfect. I did very nearly hex the Weaslette. I only stopped myself from doing so at the very last moment."

“Oh, she completely had it coming,” Harry grinned. “She’s lucky you’re still trying to behave and I want her parents to like you; in other circumstances, I would have egged you on.”

"She really was asking for it," Draco replied with a nod. "There is also the whole ‘being on probation’ thing that should probably be deterring me from assault… but I feel like there are circumstances that the Ministry would perhaps be somewhat lax about. Does petty jealousy seem like a good enough reason?"

Harry snorted. “Let’s not find out, yeah?” He ran the tip of his nose down the narrow bridge of Draco’s until their faces were aligned and he could meet the silvery eyes just inches from his own. “I think I prefer you out of Azkaban.” Leaning forward to close that last small space, he kissed the other boy softly. “Also, what on earth would you have to be jealous about? You’re the one who turned her ex-boyfriend gay.” Grinning mischievously, he kissed Draco again, biting his lower lip lightly.

The gentle bite was met with a soft moan before Draco pressed forward to deepen the kiss, wrapping his arms more firmly around the other boy. When he pulled back he replied with a playful pout, "She wrapped her legs around you. Only I should be able to do that."

Harry groaned at the mental image, quickly losing himself in the possibilities, and kissed Draco again, hard this time, pushing the other boy more firmly into the wall and resting his forearms on either side of the blond head. “I have to say,” he managed to get out between kisses, “I definitely find the idea of your legs around me much more appealing.”

Draco made a soft, muffled noise of surprise as he was thoroughly kissed and pinned against the wall, his heart instantly beginning to hammer in his chest. He gave a breathy laugh and agreed, "So do I."

The Slytherin pressed forward to resume the passionate kiss, sliding his tongue between Harry's lips as his hands slipped beneath the fabric of the Gryffindor's shirt, his nails scraping softly at the boy's back.

Harry shivered at the sensation. Pulling back slightly from the kiss, he asked breathlessly, “D’you want to, maybe, come upstairs?” Draco raised his brows, a pink flush tinting his high cheekbones. Realizing the implication behind his words, Harry hurried to clarify, “Not that I’m saying I want to… I mean… I DO want to, probably, eventually, but right now I just meant it might be nice to snog somewhere that isn’t my manky old sofa or a wall?”

The Slytherin worried his lip between his teeth for just a moment before giving a nod and shifting his hands up to wrap around Harry's shoulders as he pronounced decisively, "I am fine being wherever you want as long as you keep snogging me."

Harry could feel himself flushing but tried not to show his nerves as he stepped back and took the other boy’s hand. “Come on, then,” he invited, pulling Draco after him as he started up the stairs.

It felt like there were snitches flying frantically around in his chest as Draco followed Harry up the flights of stairs toward his bedroom. Regardless of what they did once they got there, the intimacy of being taken back to Potter's room — and not to raid his wardrobe — was a very new and terrifyingly exciting feeling. He did his best to keep his features under control even though he knew that his face was likely to have become quite ruddy from the sudden heat raging through him.

Once the pair had made it up to the bedroom, Draco let out a nervous breath but summoned all the bravado he could muster to pull Harry towards the bed, tugging him along as he let himself drop onto the rather ugly duvet.

Harry tripped over his own feet slightly in his hurry to follow Draco but recovered quickly as he watched the other boy flop inelegantly onto his bed. Even though it wasn’t the first time the blond had been there, the newness of the circumstances sent a rush of adrenaline through the Gryffindor. He moved forward, leaning over to once more thread a hand through the silvery blond strands of the other boy’s hair, tilting his head back to kiss him again.

Draco moaned softly into the feeling of the kiss, instantly parting his lips for the other. The feeling of Harry pressing on top of him, his hands in his hair as he was thoroughly kissed was foreign and utterly delectable. He could not resist reaching his hands up under Harry's arms to settle on his shoulder blades, his fingers gently digging at him through the fabric of his shirt.

Harry let himself fall fully into the kiss, thrilling at every sensation. The warmth of Draco beneath him, the fingers clinging to his back, the soft hair and softer lips and hot tongue and sharp teeth, the rough scrape of fabric whenever either of them shifted. He let his hand untangle from the other boy’s hair, trailing it down to caress the side of his neck, feeling the galloping pulse underneath his palm. The vulnerability of the Slytherin, allowing Harry to see him like this, to touch him like this; it was intoxicating.

Malfoy could feel his inhibitions slipping away with every passing moment, each flutter of nerves soothed by the touch of the Gryffindor's wandering hands and curious tongue. He wrapped his legs around Harry's waist, pulling him close enough to cause friction that had him moaning softly into the kiss, all of the tension and anxiety of the evening behind them completely forgotten as he let himself simply feel and surrender to the moment.

“Fuck,” Harry breathed out, breaking the kiss as he felt Malfoy’s legs wrap around him, pressing them tighter together in the best of ways. Bracing his forearms on the blankets, he moved to bury his face in Draco’s neck, first just breathing in the spicy scent of him, then giving into the urge to kiss the soft, flushed skin, and then lick a long stripe from the dip of the other boy’s throat up to the tempting spot below his ear.

As soon as Harry broke away from the kiss and ducked down to his neck, Draco turned his head to give the other as much access as he wanted as he panted to catch his breath. The sensation of Potter's tongue sliding along his throat and up to his ear sent a shiver along his spine and caused his back to arch up into the other as he gave a quiet but desperate moan.

At the sound of the moan, Harry bit down lightly, leaving a pink tinge to the skin he’d been mouthing at. Making his way back down the long, pale throat, he left a trail of kisses and nips until he reached the collar of the Weasley sweater Draco was still wearing. Leaning up onto one elbow, he tugged at the collar with his other hand. “Can I take this off?” he asked, breathless.

The bite caused Draco's legs to tighten around Harry for a moment as he let out a gasp. It wasn’t all that rough, but it was an unexpected and sharp sensation, and his skin was becoming increasingly sensitive with every moment. He squirmed at the subsequent kisses and nibbles at his throat before turning to look back into the Gryffindor's face as he asked to remove the jumper he wore. Draco nodded once and removed his arms from Harry's shoulders, instead lifting them above his own head as he replied with a smirk, "Be my guest."

Harry raised an eyebrow at the smirk, dislodging Draco’s legs as he knelt up so that he could pull the dragon jumper over the other boy’s head. Static left the fine blond strands disheveled, and Harry grinned at the beautiful, discomposed boy before him before lowering himself back down to continue exploring the new landscape of skin now available to him. He trailed his tongue over Malfoy’s clavicles, which were starkly visible on his thin frame. He moved upward slightly and nipped lightly at the dip between the boy’s neck and shoulder before moving downward again, pressing soft kisses over skin that was now covered in goosebumps. Curiously, he licked and then softly bit one nipple, watching it tighten.

Draco moved his body in order to help Harry remove the thick green sweater and then dropped back onto the quilt with a soft chuckle as the Gryffindor ducked down to begin exploring his body. The Slytherin bit down on his bottom lip as he watched the boy move his affections along his chest, finally giving a bite to his nipple, which drew another light gasp from Draco’s lips as he arched his back again.

As he settled back into the bedding, he gave a chuckle and lifted one hand to brush the hair out of Harry's face and mused, "I cannot help but notice that you seem overdressed, Potter."

Harry grinned up at the other boy. “Oh? Can’t have that.” He knelt back up, grabbing the back of his tee with one hand and tugging it over his head, straightening his glasses on his face as he tossed the shirt to the floor and then smirked back down at the blond. “Better?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Much," Draco replied with a grin as Harry threw his shirt haphazardly, his golden brown skin looking brilliantly rich in the low lighting of the lamps. He reached up to run his fingertips along the definition of Potter's hips, tracing the 'v' outline that disappeared beneath the band of his trousers before lifting his gaze back up to catch the absinthe green eyes looking down at him, and purred, "For the love of Merlin, you are sexy."

Harry flushed at the admiration, dropping back down to kiss Draco softly, revelling at the delightful feel of skin on skin. “I love touching you like this,” he murmured heatedly, gently stroking the side of his boyfriend’s body.

The blond hummed softly into the kiss and let his hands begin to move along Potter's back, nimble fingers tracing the dip of his spine and savoring the warmth of him against his cool hands. Potter's hands felt much rougher than his own on his skin, but in an entirely pleasant way. Years of hard work had left them delightfully calloused, a stark comparison to his own, which were smooth to the touch. He looked up to the Gryffindor with a shy grin and told him, "You're the only person who has ever had the privilege."

Harry felt a bit like his heart was melting. “Same,” he confessed. Moving from atop to beside the other boy, he turned onto his side, propping his head on one hand so that he could watch his other hand trace over Draco’s bare torso, once again tracing the thin network of scars, the shape of his ribs, and, more hesitantly, the soft, light trail of almost transparent hair leading from his belly button down to the waistband of his trousers. Idly, he traced along the line where skin met fabric, watching in fascination as the muscles there jumped at the featherlight contact. Leaning inward, he brushed soft kisses along the stretch of pale neck and shoulder nearest himself while allowing his fingertips to continue on their torturous path.

Draco gasped lightly as Harry's hand worked further down along his body, the sensation light enough to almost tickle, but instead sending a shiver along his spine and lighting a fire in his core. He bit down on his lower lip to muffle the soft moan that left him as Harry's lips pressed gently against his neck. This was certainly different, far more gentle and intimate than the school-boy, post-Quidditch, hate-fucking fantasies of his youth, and he decided straight away that it was far better. A blush tinted his cheeks as he quietly said to the other, "You can _touch me_. If you want."

Harry hesitated, biting his lip, nervous and a bit overwhelmed by the idea. Then he nodded into Draco’s neck, continuing his pattern of gentle kisses to distract himself from what his left hand was doing as he let his fingers begin to tease underneath the waistband of the other boy’s fitted trousers. Finding very little room to maneuver, he slid his fingers back out and began to fiddle with the top button holding the slacks closed. “Is this okay?” he asked, unbuttoning Draco’s fly slowly, allowing time for the blond to stop him.

"Yes, if you want to," Draco replied just as timidly as he turned his head to look at the Gryffindor again and added, "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

“I want to,” Harry assured quietly, meeting Draco’s eyes. “I just… haven’t. Before.” He laughed a little. “Sorry, I feel like I say that constantly.”

Draco gave an understanding smile at Harry’s words. The truth of it was that this was unexplored territory for the both of them. He could imagine that the Gryffindor was likely just as nervous about it as he was; Draco was simply better at faking confidence. He was spared the need to actually speak and reassure the other, however, as Harry leaned in and pressed their lips together, which he was silently thankful for. Action was easier than words.

As they kissed, Harry let his fingers continue their careful unbuttoning, finally slipping his hand inside the other boy’s trousers and sliding his palm against the soft cloth encasing the Slytherin’s hard length.

At the feeling of Potter's hand slipping beneath the fabric of his tailored slacks and his hand finding his length, Malfoy moaned lightly into the kiss and raised his hips upward just a fraction of an inch, causing a subtle friction that had him gripping the blanket beneath him tightly.

Encouraged by the seemingly unintentional reaction, Harry began to slide his hand up and down, experimentally increasing the pressure he provided as he stroked. It was similar and yet completely different to touching himself, and he tried to emulate what he thought he would enjoy if he were in Malfoy’s position. He let his tongue dip delicately into Draco’s mouth, stroking against the other boy’s tongue as his hand continued to move over his clothed erection.

Draco parted his lips for the other, letting his own tongue slide against Potter's as the boy muffled his moans of pleasure. He brought his hands up to tangle in the Gryffindor's hair, tugging on the raven-black locks a bit more enthusiastically than he had intended as he continued to move into the other's hand.

Feeling daring at Draco’s obvious enjoyment, on his next stroke, Harry shifted slightly until his hand slid under the band of the Slytherin’s boxers, and then there was skin on skin, hot and soft over hard and thrilling. He tightened his hand again, this time curving his fingers fully around the other boy, relishing in the intimacy of it.

The Slytherin broke from the kiss to gasp as Harry gripped him. The feeling was incredible and completely different than when he would touch himself. Every movement seemed far more intense, the pleasure of it mounting inside him and filling his body with warmth. Every draw of breath came to him as a mewling moan, and he managed to choke out a desperate cry of, " _Gods. Oh, fuck, Potter_."

“ _Yes,”_ Harry encouraged, burying his face in the other boy’s neck and speeding up his movements. “Yes, Draco.” He pulled back to watch Malfoy’s face as he began to fall apart. “Fuck, you’re so hot like this,” he muttered, barely aware of himself as his hand moved rapidly over heated flesh.

Draco's back arched upward, and his jaw went slack, his moans unabashed and mounting in volume as Harry became more enthusiastic in his movements. He felt his climax building at an almost embarrassingly quick pace, but he could not find it in him to actually be bothered by that fact as a wave of pleasure washed over him, seeming to fill him from head to toe as he lifted his hips to thrust into Harry's hand and came onto his own scarred stomach.

Harry watched in fascination as Draco came, slowing his pace gradually until he felt the other boy’s body relax. Sliding his hand out of now-completely-disarrayed trousers and boxers and wiping it on the fabric unconsciously, he flopped down on his side. Laughing breathily, he ran a hand through his hair. “Not going to lie, that was pretty amazing,” the Gryffindor admitted with a grin. He was still rock hard himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to care all that much with what had just happened.

Malfoy took just a few moments to catch his breath, a grin on his face as he looked over to the other and mused, "It was, but you haven’t even gotten to finish yet." With that he shifted to be able to trace his hand teasingly along the curve of Harry's hip and asked, "You _do_ want me to reciprocate, yes?"

Harry shuddered at the contact, suddenly _extremely_ aware of his own body. “God, yes,” he breathed, and then flushed. “I mean, erm, you don’t have to, obviously, I can just…” he gestured toward the en suite awkwardly.

The Slytherin raised a brow and replied, "I suppose you could. That seems like the _least_ fun option available to you, however." He pushed lightly on Harry's shoulder to prompt him to lay back fully and added, "I think you will find my way more enjoyable."

Draco slid his hand down to begin unfastening the Gryffindor's trousers with nimble fingers as he leaned forward to begin trailing soft kisses along the boy's chest. His tongue found one of Potter's nipples as he was able to slide his hand beneath the fabric of his slacks to tease at the hardened length.

Harry gasped and shivered at the multitude of sensations, trying desperately not to buck into Draco’s hand. This was… so much MORE than when he touched himself. He hadn’t thought about what a difference not knowing exactly what was going to happen would make, and it bordered on overwhelming.

The reaction he received from the Gryffindor was absolutely perfect; there was a sense of power and an immense satisfaction in having Potter weak like this at his touch. He shifted slightly to settle onto his knees and properly tug the boy's pants off of his hips, wrapping a delicate hand around the base of Harry's shaft as he began to trail his kisses further downward along his chest and stomach. He glanced up along the other's body, a smirk on his lips before he ducked down to give the tip of Harry's member a playful lick, savoring the taste of him for a moment before asking, "Is this all right?"

With a muffled groan, Harry tried to form a coherent response to the Slytherin’s question while simultaneously clenching what felt like every muscle in his body as he tried to stay still. “Merlin, fuck, yes,” he managed to get out, his voice sounding choked.

Draco chuckled lightly and replied, "Thought you might say that." He then lowered his eyes to take in the sight of the man in his hands before taking Harry into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip of him before taking him in further and beginning to find a rhythm which he matched with deft strokes of his hand.

“Holy shit,” Harry muttered, feeling his eyes roll back in his head as he was suddenly engulfed in warm and wet and pressure. With effort, he managed to focus enough to prop himself up just enough to look down his own body at the blond head bobbing over him. The sight nearly pushed him over the edge, and he flopped back down on the bed, closing his eyes and trying not to come immediately. He tried to say something, to praise or thank his boyfriend in some way, but all that came out of his mouth was an unintelligible “Mmmph!” as he succumbed to the barrage of sensations.

Despite his best efforts, Harry quickly found himself approaching the edge. “Draco,” he managed to gasp out, trying to warn the other boy, “God, gonna…”

If his mouth was not otherwise occupied, the blond would have been smirking gleefully at the sounds and words falling from Potter's lips. At the vague warning, Draco only increased his efforts, hollowing his cheeks with sucking motions as he took the other as deeply into his mouth as he could manage without gagging and mentally preparing himself for the Gryffindor's climax.

With a wordless moan, Harry’s whole body arched as he felt himself come down the other boy’s throat. It felt like it went on forever, and embarrassingly, the Gryffindor found himself close to tears at the intensity of it. With a whimper, he finally relaxed, feeling as though he was melting into the mattress. Throwing an arm over his eyes to hide their dampness, he took a deep, shuddering breath. “Fucking hell,” he finally managed.

As soon as Harry's body relaxed and he had finished climaxing, Draco pulled away, swallowing thickly. He then dropped onto the bed next to the other, bouncing a bit from his momentum as he grinned up at the other and said, "I take it that you enjoyed yourself a little bit?"

Harry chuckled and removed his arm from his face only to sling it over the other boy. “Come here, you,” he directed, pulling Draco over his own bare chest and tucking the disheveled blond head under his chin, wrapping his arms tightly around the flushed torso. He nuzzled the pale strands now tickling his face, dropping a kiss onto the Slytherin’s head. “You’re amazing,” he murmured fondly. “Thank you.”

"Mmhm," Draco replied softly as he let himself settle against Harry's chest, his eyes drooping closed as he breathed a contented sigh and wrapped his arms around the other. After a few moments he asked, "Would you like me to spend the night, or is it still too soon for that?"

“I’d love if you stayed,” Harry confessed. “I was going to ask, but I didn’t know if you needed to be home.” He allowed himself to drift for a moment, cuddled up to Draco, before jolting himself awake. “If we’re going to sleep though, we should probably clean ourselves up and change. I can loan you pajamas, if you like?”

"Not to sound _totally_ presumptuous, but I did bring my own overnight bag." Draco replied with a slightly embarrassed laugh. "It is shrunken down in my pocket. I figured that we might end up in this or a similar situation, and I wanted to be prepared. Plus, it would be a shame for you to miss the opportunity to see my adorable pajamas."

Harry grinned, feeling giddy that Draco had planned ahead, that he wanted to stay here with Harry. “How could I have forgotten about the adorable pajama collection?!” he teased. He nudged the other boy, shifting him. “Come on then; let’s get ready for bed.” Unable to resist, he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Draco’s swollen lips before shuffling off the bed.

Malfoy chuckled as Harry moved from the bed, unable to help feeling rather pleased himself that his efforts to invite himself to stay had been well received. He rolled from the bed and pulled what appeared to be a matchbox-sized duffle bag from his trouser pocket, unshrinking it with a wave of his wand. He reached inside once it was back to its original size and grabbed a few articles of clothing, as well as a vividly green toiletry bag covered in tiny cartoon snakes which were slithering about the fabric and hissing.

He moved quickly, slipping in front of Harry to get into the bathroom to wash up and change before the other had the chance, closing the door with a smirk in the Gryffindor's direction before beginning his night time routine.

Harry snorted as Draco closed him out of the bathroom. “I’m going to go use the guest loo, you brat,” he called at the door, “but can you pass me my toothbrush please?”

It took a moment of glancing around to locate said toothbrush, but once he had, about ten seconds after Harry had asked, Draco pulled the door ajar and popped his head out, his own toothbrush dangling from his mouth as he held out Harry's to him. He shut the door once again as soon as Harry had grabbed hold of the toothbrush. It did not actually take him very long to get ready for the night; it was a routine he had committed to muscle memory.

When he was washed and lotioned and finally in his night clothes — a silver silk robe that hit about mid-thigh over a green tank top and shorts that suggestively had the the word Slytherin printed on the rump — he stepped back out into the bedroom proper.

When Harry returned from the guest bathroom, in flannel pajama bottoms and a worn shirt passed down from Dudley, it was to find Draco already emerged from the en suite and ready for bed. He appraised the other boy in his nightwear, letting his eyes trail slowly up and down the outfit that had so obviously been carefully chosen. Finally, he grinned. “You weren’t lying,” he told the other boy. “You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” He walked over and wrapped the blonde in his arms, stroking the silky fabric. “I can’t believe you brought a _robe_ ,” he laughed. “I don’t even _own_ a robe.”

Draco could not help but grin at the attention and smirked, " _I told you I am adorable_." He turned in Harry's arms to face him, wrapping his own arms around the boy's shoulders as he added, "Now you have the proof. And of course I brought a robe; I'm not some kind of _heathen._ Besides, it matches the slippers." As he said this last bit, he pulled back just enough to look down at his feet, which were, in fact, covered with fluffy silver slippers.

Harry looked down at the slippers and snickered. “Oh my god, you’re so lucky I like you now, or I would tease you about that combo for _ever_. Now I just find it completely adorable. You’re ruining me, you bastard. I’m losing my edge.”

Draco grinned back, untangling himself from the other's arms and making his way over to the bed as he replied, "Ah, this is one thing your teasing wouldn't have worked on, Potter dear. If you believe for an _instant_ that I would not — and _have_ not — wandered about the Slytherin dorms in this very outfit, you would be greatly mistaken."

Harry shook his head but followed his boyfriend to bed. “You are the strangest person,” he mused fondly, climbing under the blankets behind the other boy and kissing the back of his neck, “and for some reason I love it.”

Malfoy hummed softly at the feeling of Harry's lips on him, leaning back against the other as he replied, "I am rich and privileged, so I am not strange; _I'm eccentric."_ He kicked off his slippers and brought his feet up into the bed and added, "However, I am rather glad that you find it at least moderately enjoyable these days. It would be a shame if we had decided to continue being complete prats to one another."

“Total waste,” Harry agreed, “So many better ways to spend time together.” With a happy but exhausted sigh, he cast _Nox_ before setting his wand and glasses on his nightstand and curling up next to Draco. He thought maybe it should feel odd to have someone in his bed overnight, but he just felt peaceful and content. “Goodnight, Boyfriend,” he whispered.

Draco let himself settle into the comfort of Harry's arms. It was astounding how comforting just being held could be — not that he was likely to admit that to anyone, even the Gryffindor pressed against his back. He lifted one of Harry's hands, pressing a light kiss to his knuckles before intertwining their fingers and whispering back, "Goodnight, Pookie."

Harry woke himself in the small hours of the morning with a yell, heart pounding, breath heaving, cold sweat prickling at his skin. He gasped, trying to calm his racing heart, waiting for the nightmare ( _cold forest floor, the misty presence of the dead, green light, dark, dark, dark)_ to dissipate, but couldn’t hold in the sob that broke from him. Shaking, he sat up, only to feel the bed next to him shift. _Shit_ , he thought, remembering that he was not alone, but unable to contain his body’s reaction to the unconscious flashback.

At the sudden movement beside him and the shout, Malfoy was suddenly awake and fumbling for his wand, the fear of being attacked overriding any logic telling him that he was safe and that the Dark Lord was long gone. It only took him a moment to find his wand, which he always kept under the pillow he was laying on, the tip flaring with blue light and illuminating the room where he and Harry were very much alone. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he turned to look at Harry, who was clearly distraught.

Malfoy let out a heavy breath but lifted one hand to brush the hair from Harry's forehead and leaned over to press a kiss to the clammy skin. In a quiet voice, still thick with sleep but also shaken with the fear of his wake-up call, he asked, "Nightmare?"

Harry nodded, closing his eyes in embarrassment while trying desperately to get himself under control. “I’m sorry,” he whispered shakily. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He leaned his head back against the headboard, rubbing a hand down his face, wiping at the telltale tracks of terrified tears. “Fuck.” He let out a dry, ironic puff of a laugh. “It’s stupid, but I react worse to the memory of dying than I did to the _actual dying.”_ He opened his eyes again and rolled his head to look at the sleepy boy next to him. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You should go back to sleep.”

"It's okay," Draco replied softly as he shuffled in the bed to be able to sit behind the other, wrapping both his arms and legs around him and settling his cheek against Harry's shoulder. "You can't be expected to not have some trauma from what you went through, Potter." The blond turned his face to press soft kisses along Harry's shoulder and neck as he added, "If you want to talk about it, I want to listen; or if you do not want to talk about it, I can just sit with you a while."

Sighing, Harry leaned back into Draco’s embrace, allowing the soft kisses and warm body to soothe his frazzled nerves. “It’s hard to talk about out loud,” he confessed. “It was easier in writing. I think that’s why I told you so much when we started writing. It was such a relief to get some of it out.” He wrapped his arms around the other boy’s, interlocking their fingers. Gazing down at their entwined hands, he breathed deeply as he tried to gather his thoughts. He could still smell the distinctive scent of the Forbidden Forest, even though he knew it wasn’t real. “I never really expected to live through the war,” he finally said, voice quiet. “I mean… how could I? Voldemort was one of the most powerful wizards of all time, everyone said, and I… I’m just me, you know? I wasn’t even that good in school; I wasn’t anything special. But it was all on me, and everyone knew it, and so I had to fight, even though I never wanted to and had no idea what I was doing. So, of course, I didn’t think I’d live.”

He paused, allowing Draco’s breathing to guide his own, letting his body find a rhythm that wasn’t so frantic, so desperate. Finally, he continued, “But then it came down to it, and I suddenly had confirmation that I was never _intended_ to live, and suddenly, all I could think was that I wasn’t ready to die. I didn’t _want_ to die. But it was the only way. And so many people had died already, and so many more would die if I didn’t, and so I just… _went._ I didn’t even tell anyone. I didn’t say goodbye to anyone; I just walked into that forest and let him kill me. And it was terrifying, but it also felt _right._ It was the end of the cycle, the end of the bloody prophecy, and the end of the life I never should have had in the first place.”

Tears began to well in Harry’s eyes, and he fought to keep his voice steady. “It all happened so fast, I barely had time to be scared. But now… now I relive it, over and over, and it’s so much worse, because there’s all the time in the world.” His voice began to waver despite his efforts. “And I don’t want to die, but also I _should_ be dead twice over, and I…” he trailed off, unable to put his feelings into words. His attempts to keep his tears in check faltered and failed, and he could feel hot trails sliding down his cheeks. He released Draco’s hands and turned in his grasp, curling into a ball against his chest, letting the tears fall.

Draco listened quietly, tightening his grip on the other as he spoke. There was so much that Harry had dealt with in his short life that no person should have ever needed to deal with. It was unfair and cruel for those around him to set him up the way that they had — always intending for it to end with his untimely death. He was sure that there was never a doubt in Dumbledore's mind that Harry would follow through, simply because of the person that he was. They took his kindness and his caring and love and used them against him, making him walk to Voldemort like a sheep to slaughter, and he had done so willingly so that no one else would have to be hurt.

For a brief moment, Draco found himself regretting that he had lowered his wand that night on the Astronomy Tower.

When Harry turned to him, Draco wrapped his arms firmly around the other, rubbing comforting circles along his back as he whispered back softly, "It’s okay that you’re not okay. It was all too much for anyone to ask of you. It was too big and too scary. I know that you feel broken in a lot of ways right now, but I’m here; I _will_ be here to help piece you back together again. For all the reasons that you should be dead, there are dozens more why you should be alive."

Draco’s words did nothing to stop Harry’s tears, but he willingly absorbed the comfort that the other boy offered him. Curling even more closely into the pajama-clad chest, he let the tears fall, allowing himself to be vulnerable in a way he rarely did around other people. Finally, his breathing evened back out, and he wiped his face with the back of his hand. Leaning into the comforting scent of his boyfriend, Harry let himself drift, feeling safe and — for once — like he didn’t have to hold all of his baggage alone. Before he could form the words to thank Draco, or rearrange them into a more comfortable position, he had drifted back off to sleep.

Malfoy did not bother trying to move Potter at all, simply using the wand that was still held loosely in his grip to bring the covers back over him and rearrange the pillows against the headboard to be able to lean comfortably against them as he held onto the sleeping boy.

It took quite some time for the Slytherin to be able to settle himself enough to begin to drift back to sleep as well, still holding Harry against his chest, his cheek pressed against the boy's disheveled raven hair.

They didn’t talk about the nightmare the next morning, but Harry made Draco a fairly over-the-top breakfast spread in silent thanks before they decided to take on the upholstery project. Molly’s instructions turned out to be crystal clear, and the pair had almost no trouble in updating the furniture in the lounge to suit a more modern aesthetic. When they’d finished, Harry looked over the room with its fresh white walls and clean, comfortable seating paired with beautiful old wood furniture with a smile. “I think it’s ready for guests, yeah?” he asked Draco hopefully.

Draco turned from his task of cleaning up the scraps of extra fabric with deft flicks of his wand to take in the room. He gave a smile and returned to his task as he replied, "I believe it is. Though it will look even better when you have been able to add those personal touches that will really make it feel like it belongs to you. But already this is a major improvement. You have done a good job, Potter."

Harry grinned, pleased. “Thank you.”

**Hey Hermione,**

**My 18th birthday is coming up on Friday, and I’m hoping to have some people come over and celebrate with me. If you’re free, would you like to come? It’s also a sort of unofficial housewarming since Draco has been helping me get some of the spaces a bit more livable. I’m also kind of hoping people might want to bring some things to make it a little more homey since I don’t have much of anything. Nothing big! But if you have any pictures or anything, that’d be great. Hope to see you Friday!**

**Love, Harry**

**P.S. I am doing a Geminio on this letter to invite our other friends. I feel weird about it, but hand writing a dozen of the same letter sounded like a lot of work and Draco promised this wasn’t rude!**

_Salutations to the friends and family of Harry J. Potter,_

_You are all expected to show up to Potter's birthday party. It will be at his place of residence at precisely 5:30 PM on July 31st. You will be on time, and you will bring him lovely gifts and delicious food._

_This boy has been living in this carcass of a house filled with dark artifacts and decades of trauma so thick you can hear it rattling around in the pipes at night. He saved all of your lives, and the very least that you can do is to get him a few things that make this house somewhere that he can be comfortable and be reminded of the people who care about him. I will not accept not knowing what to get for him — you can take a few moments of time to figure something personal and fitting out. Plus, he is a rather simple man, and it does not take much to find something he likes._

_If you need assistance:_

_Red and gold anything._

_Anything related to Quidditch (but if any of you sods tries to buy him a broom, there will be severe consequences)_

_Pictures of friends and family._

_Handmade gifts are lovely and sentimental._

_He needs new bedding — queen size._

_His clothing is terrible. His trainers are probably from fourth year. (Small shirt, 42 EU trousers, 9 trainers)_

_There is not a single coaster or doily in this house. Believe me, I looked._

_In fact, assume he has nothing he really needs to run a household. Nearly everything that was here is cursed._

_If you have an idea of what you would like to get for him but are unable to fund said gift, please send a direct correspondence to me, and I will sort it out._

_Again, 5:30 PM, July 31st. Or else._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco L. Malfoy._

Friday late afternoon found Harry puttering nervously around his kitchen, playing with the final touches he’d put on the foods he’d prepared, arranging and rearranging things. “How do you know people won’t show up until 5:30?” he asked Draco, who was hovering near the doorway after almost being knocked over by Harry’s incessant pacing more than once. “I didn’t give people a time. Shit, what if no one comes?”

Draco continued to lean casually on the doorframe, sipping on a cup of tea, the saucer balanced delicately in one hand as the other brought it up to his lips. He lowered the cup and replied, "I gave them a time, Potter. I took the liberty of writing out some… formal invitations. People will be here, I assure you." The blond stepped forward, setting his cup down on the table and reaching forward to gently adjust a flower in a vase at the center before turning to Harry and saying with a smile, "You have a lot of people who care about you, Pookie. A couple of them are bound to come to your party."

What Draco did not mention was that he knew for a fact that several of them would be here since he had been in communication with them and fully paid for the gifts they were bringing, though he had no intention of bringing that information to light for Harry.

“You sent out…” Harry shook his head in disbelief and then smiled slightly. “Of course you did. You’re a menace, you know that?” He walked over to Draco and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a hug. “Thank you. I’m rubbish at this. Do you know I’ve never hosted a party in my entire life? Literally never. I had no idea I’d be so nervous!”

Draco scoffed as he was wrapped in the other's arms. He raised a brow as he replied coolly, "I am not a _menace._ I am the _best_ boyfriend who wanted to help throw your little birthday party. And I did not know that you have never hosted a party before, but I cannot say that I am surprised in the slightest." Malfoy turned a bit to face Harry properly and rested his hands on the boy's chest as he added comfortingly, "It will be fun. The house is looking rather nice, the food smells _amazing,_ and literally everyone who is coming thinks that you are the bee's knees. There is nothing to worry about, Potter."

Harry smirked at Malfoy’s snarky reply but softened at the reassurances that accompanied it. He leaned down to capture the blond’s lips in a soft kiss. “Thank you,” he murmured. “You are most _definitely_ a menace, though.” He grinned, and then kissed Draco again, this time lingering and biting his bottom lip lightly, something he just could not help himself from doing at every opportunity. Draco was just so _biteable._

Draco hummed into the kiss, a soft moan leaving him at the little bite. He pulled back enough to capitulate playfully, "All right, but I am _the best_ menace." The Slytherin then draped his arms around Harry's shoulders and dropped his weight against the other, trusting that the Gryffindor would support him as he pressed a series of soft kisses against the boy's jaw.

Harry hummed appreciatively at the attention. “Definitely the best menace,” he agreed before turning his head back to capture Draco’s mouth once again, this time allowing his tongue to swipe softly at the other boy’s lips. He pulled back very slightly. “Also, a very good distraction when my nerves are getting to me,” he teased before moving back in to continue the kiss.

Malfoy grinned before parting his lips for the other, savoring the taste of him and the quiet domestic intimacy that were sharing. It was astounding to him that at the beginning of this summer, he had given up any hope of being able to live a happy and healthy life. He’d thought he was going to spend the remainder of his days in Azkaban for crimes that he was, for the most part, forced to participate in. There had not been a single happy thing in the life of Draco Malfoy.

But Harry had come back into his life and not only saved him from a fate worse than death but given him an abundance of reasons to keep on living. For the first time in much longer than he cared to admit, Draco was able to look toward the future and was even excited for what it might bring.

The Slytherin pulled back from the kiss just enough to look at the absinthe green eyes of the boy holding him as he adjusted one hand to take Harry's and begin guiding the boy in a slowly paced waltz right there in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, set to music that existed only in his mind.

Harry laughed as Malfoy pulled him into a dance. “Okay, you’re aware there’s no music on, right? And that the only time I’ve ever danced was at the Yule Ball, and Parvati barely got out with all her toes intact?”

Draco gave a fond smirk in return and replied, "I am aware of both of those facts. But I am _also_ aware that I am a terrific dancer, and I am confident in my ability to make up for your lack of grace. As for the music, it is quite possible to dance without it." The blond continued to guide Harry, dropping his hand from the Gryffindor's shoulder instead to his hip and said, "Follow my lead; you will do just fine."

Grinning at the absurdity of it all, Harry decided to go along with Draco’s whim. Truthfully, it was rare to catch Draco in a whimsical mood, and when it happened, Harry’s heart swelled at the uncomplicated happiness that lit his boyfriend’s face. They danced around the kitchen, Harry unable to keep back the giggles that erupted from him every time Malfoy twirled them around, until Harry started to feel dizzy and had completely forgotten his worries about the evening ahead.

Draco smiled unabashedly as he led Harry in spins and moved about the room with a grace that did indeed seem to make up for Potter being cursed with two left feet. Between the two of them, they got down a passable waltz within several minutes. When the Slytherin had finally had his fill, he dipped Harry dramatically and pressed a kiss to his neck, mumbling against the flesh there, "I told you that you could do it."

As Harry began to respond, the Floo behind them flared to fiery green life, and Hermione stepped into the room, brushing soot off of her jeans and already mid-sentence: “I know it’s not 5:30 yet, but I thought I would come over a bit early and – OH!”

At the sound of the Floo, Harry had whipped his head around, and in his startlement, managed to throw off his precarious balance. Hermione was, therefore, greeted not by the sight of two wizards having a lovely dance, but of Harry James Potter falling backwards onto the kitchen floor and pulling one very surprised Draco Lucius Malfoy after him into an undignified heap.

The sounds that accompanied this tableau were comprised of a rapid succession that sounded a bit like a yelp, followed by a groan, and finished with a startled “oof!” as Harry found himself squashed under his slim but not insubstantial boyfriend. Harry groaned once again for good measure as he greeted his friend.

“Hey, Hermione,” he said sheepishly. Then, with a raised eyebrow, he added, “What is it with you and Ron coming through unannounced? It’s like you interrupt things on purpose, I swear.”

Raising an eyebrow in return and trying to hide an amused grin, Hermione responded, “Happy Birthday, Harry. Hello, Draco.”

When Draco was pulled to the ground, he landed heavily on his knee and had to grit his teeth against the pain of it as he managed to gently untangle himself from his slightly squashed boyfriend. He looked up at the witch who had just stepped through the floo and inclined his head in a polite nod, deftly hiding any embarrassment or discomposure. "Hullo, Granger," the blond greeted, taking a quick look at his watch before standing and offering a hand to Harry as he added, "We were not expecting anyone for almost another hour."

“I know,” Hermione replied, “I just thought I’d stop by and see if Harry needed any help with anything.” She looked at Harry slightly apologetically. “No offense, but you aren’t always the most organized person.”

“None taken,” Harry replied, letting go of Draco’s hand and brushing himself off. “But we’ve actually got everything under control. Draco’s got an idea of everything needed to have a party, even if I don’t.”

Draco stepped forward and said, with a genuine smile, "Though, the help is appreciated." He looked around the kitchen and said, "I think we have all the food prepared and set out, and by _we_ I mean _Potter_ because I am a right disaster in the kitchen. I did manage to stock the parlor with wine — however, if you wanted to double check my cleaning spells on the wine glasses, I wouldn't be offended. Household spells are really not my strongest skills, and many of those glasses have been sitting collecting dust since the Dark Ages."

Hermione looked pleased to be given a task, and Harry reached out to surreptitiously squeeze Draco’s hand in thanks for making an effort to find a way to include her in the prep work for the party. “Of course,” Hermione said, heading toward the parlor.

Over the course of the next hour, the three managed to find plenty of ways to keep themselves busy. Although the parlor and kitchen had been fixed up, the rest of the house was still fairly bleak in appearance, having been subjected to thorough de-cursing, less thorough extermination of magical pests, and some dusting, but little else. Hermione set herself to work with a number of cleaning spells, which she used on the hall, removing stains from the old wallpaper to give the space a less desolate feel. Draco assisted by summoning small twinkling lights (“Not actual fairies, please,” Harry entreated, “I think we’ve still got doxxies, and I don’t want them to start a war or something.”) to brighten things up and lend a more festive air. Harry cast freshening charms on the dining room, opening the windows and spelling down the heavy window draperies entirely. By the time 5:30 rolled around, they had much more usable space — which was good, because by 6:00, Harry was reeling at the number of people who had shown up for him.

Ron came first, of course, followed shortly by Molly and Arthur. Ginny and George showed up soon after with Neville barely behind. Then came Dean, Seamus, Andromeda and Teddy, and, to Harry’s shock, McGonagall and Hagrid.

“Professor McGonagall!” Harry greeted in shock when he opened his front door to the imposing woman.

“Please, outside of school you may call me Minerva,” McGonagall said, stepping inside. “Although, should you choose to return to Hogwarts next month, I will of course expect you to address me appropriately within school walls.” She turned to the blond hovering beside Harry. “Mr. Malfoy, it’s good to see you. Thank you for the invitation.”

Harry absorbed her words dazedly. His shock was short-lived, however, as he was soon enveloped in the crushing embrace of his oldest friend, Hagrid.

“‘Arry!” the large, bearded man exclaimed as he pulled back from a now-very-disheveled Harry, holding him at arm's length. “Feels like just yesterday I celebrated your eleventh birthday with you, and now look at you!” He released Harry and reached to the side of the door where he had set something down out of sight.

“I brought you summat,” he said quietly, “an’ I hope it’s okay, but it seemed like since I gave you your first the year I met you, it was only right to find your next as well.” Gingerly, the gigantic man presented Harry with a beautiful cage, in which sat a dignified looking long-eared owl. Eyes wide, Harry reached out a tentative finger through the bars of the cage. The owl rubbed its head against the finger, catlike, and Harry grinned, eyes damp. He missed Hedwig awfully, but something about getting a new owl from Hagrid felt completely right. “I know he can’t replace ‘edwig,” Hagrid said, “but I thought he could still keep you company.”

“He’s beautiful, Hagrid. What’s his name?”

Hagrid looked pleased but sheepish. “You don’t have to keep it, but I’ve been callin’ ‘im Prongs, on account o’ the ears.”

Harry smiled again, feeling a lump rising in his throat. “It’s perfect,” he whispered. Thank you.”

Draco had remained quiet as he watched the exchange, understanding that it was a quite intimate moment between the two, even without knowing all of the history there. It was incredibly sweet, and he was glad that Hagrid had chosen something so personal and impactful. He only hoped that the rest of them would follow suit and that Harry would be given the most amazing birthday of his life.

After a few moments of letting Harry bond with his new companion, Draco stepped forward and cleared his throat, "Why don't I let Prongs out back? Archimedes is out there and can show him all the best hunting spots, and it is likely to get a bit overwhelming in here for him soon."

Handing over his new owl only somewhat reluctantly, Harry acceded to Draco’s suggestion. “You’re probably right,” he said with a sigh, “Hedwig never liked crowds, either. I wouldn’t want him to spend his first night with me stressed out by the noise.”

"Most owls are not terribly fond of too much noise," Draco replied with a nod. He leaned down to press a kiss to Harry's cheek as he took the cage and went to release the owl outside. Before he opened the cage, he lifted it to eye level and addressed the owl, "This is home now. Do not wander far, Prongs. But there are a ridiculous amount of mice in this yard; please feel free to destroy them."

The owl gave the blond an unimpressed look, but Draco merely laughed as he opened the cage and Prongs took off, perching in one of the tall trees in the yard. The Slytherin tucked the cage away in a corner of the parlour and went to find his partner once again, navigating through the growing crowd of Harry’s friends. On his way back, however, he paused at the sight of Luna Lovegood dragging what looked like a gigantic picture frame through Harry's fireplace. He stepped forward to help her tug it free.

"Oh, hello, Draco," Luna said dreamily as the frame came loose and she was able to levitate it to lean against a wall instead. "Thank you for the help. I hope that you do not feel the need to hex me for my gift. I didn’t use any of your listed ones, but I think Harry will like it anyway."

Malfoy laughed sheepishly and said, "That was an empty threat, really. I am sure he will love whatever you got for him." He turned his attention to the gift and knew immediately that Harry would love it. It was a painting, obviously done by the witch herself, of a beautiful forest scene full of lush green trees. At the center was a stag, which was currently milling about and eating grass, though he did lift his head to glance about. The painting seemed to shimmer slightly, and then the scene was transformed to one of ethereal blues and greys, the stag now very obviously a patronus.

"It's beautiful," he murmured to the witch before catching his boyfriend's eye from across the room and gesturing for him to come take a look.

Seeing Draco summoning him, Harry excused himself from where he was still chatting with Hagrid to make his way over to his boyfriend, who was standing with Luna near the fireplace. “Hi, Luna,” he greeted her with a warm smile and a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

The lithe blonde witch smiled warmly at the Gryffindor and said, "Hello, Harry. Happy birthday. And thank you for inviting me to your party. Just so you know, I would have come even without Draco's threatening letter."

Harry laughed and looked over at Draco, raising an eyebrow. “Threatening letter, huh? Is that what your ‘formal invitations’ were then, Draco?”

Draco's expression did not betray any hint of embarrassment or guilt as he replied coolly, "I've no idea what she is talking about."

Looking mildly concerned, Luna said, "Surely you remember sending the letters that said that the least we could do for Harry, since he saved wizard kind, is to try to put some thought into personal presents for his birthday because his house is abysmal and if we didn't you would hex us?"

Draco completely ignored this statement and said, "Ms. Lovegood, why don't you show Harry what you brought for him?"

Luna turned to Harry once again and said, "I painted this for you. It shifts from a real stag to a patronus. The scenery will also change depending on the season." She leaned over and whispered, "I chose a stag because of your patronus, Harry. See, it is personal."

Harry was staring at Draco with disbelief, his eyebrows raising higher and higher as Luna spoke, but he turned back to her to look at the painting. Taking in the gorgeous shifting colors, he could feel himself once again becoming choked up. _God, am I going to be like this every time someone gives me a gift?_ he thought despairingly. “This is beautiful, Luna,” he managed. “Thank you so much.” He looked around the room, finding a blank stretch of wall above a credenza that looked about the right size for the painting. “What do you think, Draco? There?” He pointed.

Draco looked at the spot that Harry indicated and gave a nod as he pulled out his wand to move the painting into place and replied, "I think that’s the perfect place for it. It will be really nice to have it changing with the seasons as well. I am sure the colors will be fantastic." With the painting hung, he looked to Luna with a smile and said, "Really, it’s a beautiful piece of art. You should look into selling paintings. I bet people would love your work."

She smiled back at him and replied, "So that means I am not getting hexed? I did bring a first aid kit just in case…"

Draco sighed and said, "I'm not hexing anyone. Go enjoy the party, Luna."

Watching Luna drift off toward Dean Thomas, who was deep in conversation with Ginny, Harry shook his head and turned to Draco. “ _Definitely_ a menace,” he smirked. “I can’t believe you threatened people, you git.” He paused, thoughtful, “Well, okay, yes, I can; you’re you.” He leaned in and pressed a light kiss to Draco’s lips. “You’re completely awful. Thank you.”

"I did not _threaten_ people," Draco argued against Potter's lips. He pulled back just enough to add, "That would be a violation of my parole. I merely reminded people of the reasons that they should dote on you and advised that there would be consequences if they didn't. You're welcome."

Harry snorted, resting his forehead against his boyfriend’s briefly. “Slytherin.” He straightened, taking Draco’s hand in his own. “Come on, let’s go grab a drink and then say hi to people.”

Shortly, the two were armed with cold bottles of butterbeer and were making the rounds of the room. They stopped first where Molly and Arthur Weasley were chatting with Professor McGonagall. “Harry, dear!” Molly exclaimed as the pair walked up, wrapping him in one of her warm, motherly hugs, “Happy birthday. Here, I’ve brought this for you. It isn’t much, but, well.” Pulling a small package from her robe pocket, she tapped it with her wand to return it to its original size.

“Thank you,” Harry smiled, taking the wrapped gift from her. “Should I open this now?”

“Yes, please, go ahead!” Molly beamed. Carefully, Harry slid his fingers under the edges of the wrapping paper, unfastening it and unwrapping what, when unfolded, was a beautiful handmade patchwork quilt.

“Mrs. Weasley, did you make this?” Harry asked, his voice awed. The fabrics were comprised of all sorts of colors and patterns, cut into triangles and fitted into an intricate pattern of pinwheels and squares.

Molly blushed. “Well, your Draco here mentioned that you could use some things to make your house feel a bit more like a home, and I thought—”

She was cut off as Harry wrapped her in another tight hug. “It’s fantastic,” he told her. “Really, I love it. Thank you.” Folding the quilt carefully, he stepped away briefly to place it on a table near the stairs where he would be sure to remember to take it up to his bedroom later.

Draco sighed with relief at the sight of the new blanket, glad that Harry would not have to continue using dead people's bedding, but made a mental note that he would still need sheets. The Slytherin planned on doing an additional shop after the party to just fill in the few things he knew his boyfriend would still really need.

The Slytherin had known going into it that this party was going to end up being rather expensive for him, but he could not find it in him to be upset or even worried about it. Overall, everyone seemed to have gotten the message and provided Harry with some truly brilliant gifts. It took them a full twenty minutes to sort through the different plants that Neville had brought with him and get them placed out of the way of the party goers, but they immediately made the house seem much brighter and more alive.

Harry was thoroughly enjoying himself, feeling overwhelmed but incredibly grateful for the outpouring of love and the readiness with which his friends and family now folded Draco into their company. It seemed that his threatening letters had served a double purpose: ensuring that Harry received a myriad of gifts that transformed his space from someone else’s leftovers into a home that reflected his life and interests, and endearing Draco to Harry’s loved ones, who couldn’t help but favor someone who was so protective of Harry.

Munching on a plate of snacks — small sandwiches that he’d made, accompanied by some tiny treacle tarts that Mrs. Weasley had provided — Harry gazed around the room and felt his heart swell. Hagrid and Arthur Weasley stood chatting in front of a wall which now sported a series of framed illustrations of various Quidditch moves (a fluttering snitch, a beater swinging at a bludger, a quaffle soaring through a goal hoop) lovingly drawn and magicked into movement by Dean. Ginny leaned on a wall by a window whose ledge was crowded with some of the plants provided by Neville, grinning at George and Luna, who were involved in some odd sort of game involving over-the-top eyebrow gestures and nonsense words. Professor McGonagall had presented him with an array of throw pillows in subtle Gryffindor shades of dark red and muted gold, along with a tartan blanket that was now draped over the back of the sofa on which Ron and Hermione sat, Ron’s arm slung around Hermione’s shoulders while Seamus perched across from them on the chaise, leaning forward and gesticulating wildly with a glass of the Ogden’s firewhiskey he’d arrived with while Ron laughed and Hermione rolled her eyes. McGonagall herself was deeply immersed in a conversation with Andromeda and Mrs. Weasley, who was holding a sleepy Teddy cradled in her arms. His hair was currently a bright, Weasley red. _This is what home looks like_ , he thought contentedly.

Draco leaned against the wall next to Harry, watching him take in the sight of the gathering of his friends, all here to celebrate him. He wasn't sure that he had ever seen Potter looking as free and at peace as he looked right now. Malfoy leaned over, pressing a kiss to the Gryffindor's cheek and said, "I’ll be right back, Potter." Without another word he excused himself, heading upstairs and into Harry's bedroom to grab the packages he had brought from his bag. There was one long one which held a brand new, top of the line imported broomstick called a Phoenix Fire; there was a large square package that was a full service broom repair kit; and finally, there was a t-shirt that was absolutely a gag gift but which made him laugh: vibrantly green, with the words _Potter Stinks_ across the chest.

He snickered quietly to himself, anticipating Potter’s reaction to the shirt, as he set them to their proper size and brought them downstairs with him, the packages floating along behind him as he reentered the parlour and tapped his partner on the shoulder.

“Welcome back,” Harry smiled, glancing over at the physical contact. “Ooh, are those for me?” he asked cheekily as he noticed the floating packages hovering behind Malfoy.

Draco gave a nod and said, "As a matter of fact, they are. I thought that it might be frowned upon to show up empty handed after… ah... _encouraging_ everyone to come bearing gifts. Go on, open ‘em up. Big one first."

Obligingly, Harry accepted the long package, with a fairly strong suspicion of what might be enclosed, having received two similarly-shaped packages over the past eight years. Sure enough, removing the pristine paper unveiled a truly spectacular new broom. Harry felt a grin spread across his face as he inspected the sleek, reddish wood handle and impeccably trimmed bristles. “Draco, this is…” he shook his head, awed, “I’ve never even seen one like this before.”

From the sofa, Ron had looked up and spotted the broom. “Merlin, is that a Phoenix Fire?!” he exclaimed loudly. Immediately, Dean, Ginny, Seamus, George, and McGonagall looked up in interest. Soon, Harry and Draco were surrounded by excited Quidditch enthusiasts who were inspecting his birthday gift with keen interest. After reluctantly ceding his space by the broom to Dean, Ron gave Draco an appraising look. “Good one, Malfoy,” he finally said, clapping the blond on the shoulder approvingly, “Reckon you’re doing all right.”

Draco swayed on the spot and let out a quiet, "Ow." _Gryffindors._ There were other, less painful ways of showing approval.

Harry rolled his eyes at Ron, sliding his arm around Draco’s waist protectively. “Thank you,” he whispered into his boyfriend’s ear.

"You’re welcome,” Draco replied with a soft smile. “There are still two more, though."

“This was more than enough,” Harry objected.

"Whether or not you think that the broomstick was sufficient, the fact remains that there are still two gifts, which I have purchased and/or hand made and wrapped, that are waiting for you to open them and accept them graciously because it is your birthday and it is my right as your disgustingly wealthy boyfriend to get you however many gifts I see fit to," Draco replied as he grabbed the large box and pushed it into Harry's hands. "Carry on."

Harry wrinkled his nose at his boyfriend, but gamely proceeded to open the second package. He smiled as the paper folded back to reveal the broom servicing kit. “Oh, perfect, my old kit was pretty well used up. Thanks, Draco.” He kissed the other boy’s temple affectionately. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be ungrateful; I’m just still not used to this sort of thing. It’s a bit overwhelming! But in a good way,” he reassured.

" _This_ kit is specifically designed for your broom. The Phoenix Fire needs specialty oils, so please do not use whatever cheap oil you would normally buy. Let me know when you are running low and we — by which I, of course, mean I — can get you more," Draco directed as he grabbed the last package and leaned in to press a kiss to Harry's cheek and put the softer package into his hands before stepping behind the Gryffindor and wrapping his arms around his waist, settling his chin on the boy's shoulder, "Last one."

Harry turned the package over, carefully pulling back the tape and paper and unfolding a bright green tee. “Oh, thanks,” he said, a little bemused, until he flipped the shirt around and saw the lovingly lettered _Potter Stinks_ emblazoned across the chest. Letting out a shocked exhalation of laughter, Harry smacked Draco’s arm, turning his head to glare at the other boy. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that, Malfoy,” he threatened, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.

Professor McGonagall, from where she stood holding Harry’s new broom, raised an eyebrow at the two young men. “It’s nice to see that your relationship hasn’t changed significantly since you decided to admit your attraction to one another,” she observed dryly.

Draco chuckled softly and said to Harry, "I already did pay for it. That shirt cost me two sickles, and the paint was _three_." He then looked up to the headmistress and added, "Where would the fun be if we couldn't mock the absurdity that was our childhood rivalry?" As more of a side comment he mused, "I think I still have a whole box of those buttons laying around somewhere."

Harry had begun to blush at McGonagall’s assessment, but at Malfoy’s reply, he snorted. “You would.”

“Harry, I have something for you, too,” Hermione interjected, having wandered over when it became clear that Ron and Seamus would not be returning from their admiration of the new broomstick, interrupting the two boys’ good-natured bickering. “I had some help from Draco,” she added, with a nod at the blond, “and I hope you like it, but… well, come with me and see.”

Curious, Harry followed Hermione out of the parlour and into the hall, along to a door on the left that he rarely used, as he hadn’t had the time nor inclination to redecorate the space. Once inside, Hermione turned to Harry anxiously. “I know that research isn’t your favorite thing,” she said self-consciously, “but I thought… well, you’re going to be running a magical household on your own now, and the material we cover in classes only gives us a starting place for what spells might come in handy on a daily basis, so…” She twirled her wand at the wall of bookcases that lined one of the walls, dropping the glamour that had been concealing the changes she had made and revealing an array of beautifully bound new magic books with titles like _Practical Household Spells_ and _Mixing With Magic: Baking the Wizarding Way._ “The library here was terribly outdated, and I just—”

Harry cut her off with a hug and a peck to her cheek. “Thank you, Hermione. This is brilliant.” He pulled down a volume called _Charming Interiors_ that seemed to contain a large number of spells for decorating and household transfiguration. “I’ll definitely be using this!”

Hermione blushed and smiled. “You’re very welcome, Harry.”

Draco gave a nod at the recognition of his help, though he wished that he hadn't been acknowledged quite so much this evening. He had fully intended for none of the things he had done behind the scenes to be brought to light. He didn’t necessarily want recognition for it; he just wanted Harry to have a good birthday.

The books were wonderful, though. Dozens upon dozens of spell books that he had vetted alongside Granger in a series of letters, which had been rather tense at first but had grown more comfortable once the pertinent subject matter became the focus. The two of them had quickly found themselves able to communicate rather smoothly when discussing which spellbooks would be the most practical additions, the letters even ending in a trip together to Diagon Alley to pick them out and allow Draco to smuggle them all into Grimmauld.

After perusing the new library for a bit; Harry, Draco, and Hermione made their way back to the parlour to rejoin the party. Over the next few hours, everyone talked, laughed, and drank, and through it all, Harry’s heart beat with the comforting, intoxicating refrain of _home, home, home._ As the evening wound down, people began to make their excuses and depart for the night, wishing Harry a happy birthday and thanking him for the invitation and for a lovely evening.

When Professor McGonagall left, she shook his hand firmly. “I’m proud to see you and Mr. Malfoy putting aside your differences and moving forward,” she told him. “We’re going to need examples like yours in this new world we’re building. I hope to see both of you back at Hogwarts next month.”

Harry returned the handshake firmly, meeting his professor’s eyes and seeing how much the war had aged her, and yet, how the fierce determination in her gaze had, if anything, grown. “You will, Professor,” he assured her.

“Good,” she said, a hint of a smile touching her stern face. “Well then. Goodnight, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy.”

Soon, the last stragglers had departed. Ron, Hermione, and Luna has been some of the last to go, but Luna’s innocent observation of, “I think Harry and Draco would like to be alone together now,” had caused Ron to turn tomato red and Hermione to bid them a hasty goodnight before ushering the other two out the Floo. As the green flames died down to a yellow flicker, Harry turned and wrapped Draco tightly in his arms.

“Thank you so much,” he murmured. Turning his head to hide his face in the other boy’s neck, he let out the words that had been threatening to spill out the entire evening. “I love you.” The thought had been fluttering around the edges of Harry’s consciousness for a while now, but having never been in love, and not having much of a frame of reference for such a thing, he’d pushed it away. Now, though, he couldn’t keep himself from voicing what felt like an undeniable truth. He had, unexpectedly and irreversibly, fallen in love with Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy returned the embrace, though his own grip was not nearly as strong as Harry's. At the thanks, he had been prepared to simply brush it off, saying that it was not a big deal and that Harry deserved one decent birthday party after saving the world — but his words caught in his throat at the declaration of love.

No one had ever told him that they loved him before in a romantic sense, and even with platonic or familial love, declarations were few and far between. His family was not really one that said such things, except on very rare occasions.

He knew that he was attracted to Potter — he had been for as long as he could remember — and he knew that they had grown incredibly close. Throughout the summer, they had become not only boyfriends and sexual partners, but also, Draco could say with certainty that Harry had become his very best friend. But, _love_?

Malfoy hesitated for a moment as he let the word sink in, his stomach doing a somersault as he stood there in Harry's arms. A soft exhale of breath that was almost a chuckle left his lips as he realized that there was no other word that could describe what it was he felt for the Gryffindor. The thought solidified in his mind. _I'm in love with Harry Potter._

The Slytherin pulled back slightly, bringing up one delicate hand to lift the other's chin so he could catch his lips in an incredibly soft kiss. After just a moment, he murmured against Harry's lips, "I love you, too, Potter."

Harry smiled beatifically against Draco’s lips, bringing his hands up to frame the other boy’s face and kissing him softly again, savouring the feeling. His heart fluttered in his chest, threatening to burst out. He hadn’t been sure if Draco reciprocated the intensity of his feelings; they hadn’t been together that long, after all. But he hadn’t been able to hold the words back; they’d been growing inside him as the summer went on, with every caring gesture from the Slytherin, all the little and big ways that he made sure that Harry felt safe and cared for. Holding him through his panic attacks and nightmares, making the effort to get to know the people important to Harry, ensuring that his birthday was perfect. All of the effort that he used to put towards knowing Harry’s weak points and exploiting them he now put toward shoring him up and holding the pieces together. “I love you,” Harry whispered again, a slight note of awed disbelief in his voice.

Draco pressed forward to catch Harry's lips again, giving him a thorough kiss as he wrapped his arms around him once more, pulling him close and holding him as tightly as he could. He felt as if his knees were going to buckle beneath him as he stood there with the other boy. He pulled back after just a few moments and looked down at the Gryffindor with a sheepish grin and said, "I have never felt for anyone like I feel for you. You understand me like no one else ever has, and I don't think I would have made it through this summer without you. I hope you know that I am not returning those words lightly."

Harry could feel the dopey grin on his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “I feel the same way. I don’t know what I would have done this summer if it weren’t for you.” He pulled the Slytherin closer again, resting his head on the other boy’s shoulder. “Stay the night?” he asked quietly.

Draco lifted a hand to run his fingers gently through Potter's hair as he leaned his cheek against the boy’s head and replied, "I'd love to stay the night with you, Harry. As often as you'll have me."

“Careful with that,” Harry grinned into Draco’s shoulder, “or you’ll be living here pretty soon, and I think we’re a bit young for that. Also, we’ve only been dating for like two months.” He kissed Malfoy softly on the neck before straightening and releasing him from the embrace, taking his hand instead. “Let’s go to bed,” Harry suggested. “I’m exhausted. I think that was more people than I’ve seen all summer.”

Draco laughed happily and teased, "I’ll avoid the urge to get too comfortable. Merlin knows you don’t have the closet space to accommodate my things anyway." The Slytherin let himself be led upstairs, the sensation of Harry's hand in his somehow feeling far more significant as they made their way to the bedroom. He gave another laugh as he agreed, "It was _so many people_. I could probably sleep until we have to get to King’s Cross for the start of term."

“Sounds like a plan. Let’s do that,” Harry agreed sleepily. “Go ahead up; I’ll use the spare loo and meet you up there.” Splitting off from Draco, he made quick work of brushing his teeth and getting ready before heading up to the bedroom to change into his pajamas.

Meanwhile, Malfoy continued up the stairs to Harry's room to use the en suite to get ready for bed, feeling both elated and exhausted as he changed into a pair of black silk pants and one of Harry's overly large hand-me-down t-shirts. It didn't take him long to be ready for sleep, wandering back out into the bedroom and collapsing face first into the pillows.

Harry laughed softly when he found Draco already dramatically prostrate on the bed. He changed into a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and made his way over. Nudging the prone figure of his boyfriend, he whispered, “Budge up, let me get the covers out from under you.”

Draco groaned dramatically but rolled off the bed when prompted to, pulling the blankets down so that they could climb into them together, settling beneath the thick fabric of Harry's new quilt, though Draco did his damnedest to wrap as much of it around himself as he could manage.

Climbing in next to the now-thoroughly-bundled blond, Harry tugged on the quilt and grumbled, “Hey, share that, or you’re uninvited from my bed.”

"You're going to kick me out of the bed?" Draco asked with an exaggerated pout. "After you just decided that you love me?"

“I’m fickle like that,” Harry confirmed, “now gimme my blanket.” He tugged on the quilt again, succeeding in freeing enough of it to slide underneath, and curled himself around Draco. “There, now you have to share,” he asserted.

"I am okay with this compromise," Draco conceded through a yawn as he settled against the Gryffindor, feeling almost uncharacteristically content. He tilted his head just enough to be able to press a soft kiss to Harry's cheek and said, "I love you, Potter."

“I love you, too, Malfoy,” Harry murmured, kissing the top of Draco’s head. Breathing in the now familiar scent of the other boy, he let out a contented sigh and promptly fell asleep, smiling.

The next month passed in a flurry of home renovation and socialization. Ron and Hermione began spending more and more time at Grimmauld Place, helping to get it cleaned up and decorated, and slowly, but surely, building, if not a friendship, then at least an amicable working relationship with Draco. Harry, Draco, and Hermione had sent off their responses to McGonagall indicating their intent to return to school, and the imminent separation from Ron for the first substantial stretch of time in almost eight years was leaving Harry unnerved. “Eighth Year,” as it was being called, was set to look significantly different than Harry’s previous years at Hogwarts, and he couldn’t help but be apprehensive about all of the changes. Keeping his friends close by for as long as possible, and putting together a welcoming retreat that they could all spend time at together over the holidays, gave him a way to connect his past to his present and future and remind him that not all change is bad.

Draco spent the night more often than not, the two boys often spending their time exploring the many ways they could drive each other mad with fingers and lips and tongues, but just as often curling up together in their pajamas, talking quietly about all the things they’d never known about each other. Harry slowly shared more details of his upbringing, things he’d only hinted at before: the physical and emotional abuse, the lies about his parents and the Wizarding world. He filled Draco in on the truth of his adventures from age eleven onwards, frequently stopping to laugh hysterically at the Slytherin’s shocked reactions to the things he’d gotten up to. Draco, in turn, shared — albeit rarely and somewhat reluctantly — some of his own traumas: what it was like being raised by Lucius, the utter surety he’d had about the bigoted beliefs he was taught, and the rapid unlearning of everything he knew as his world fell apart. Mostly, he listened. Harry still had nightmares and the occasional panic attack, but overall, he felt more himself than he thought he ever had. He was content, and sometimes, he even thought he might be happy.

Before they knew it, their departure for Hogwarts was only days away. They helped Ron move into the apartment above Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes with George, and Hermione moved temporarily into one of the guest bedrooms of Grimmauld Place. She and Ron, like Harry and Draco, weren’t quite ready to cohabitate, but Hermione also didn’t see the point in getting a place of her own until after the school year ended. “After all,” she stated, “I’m not sure where I’ll go to study law, so it seems premature to rent a flat.” She would likely end up spending her holidays with Ron, she said, although Harry made sure she knew that she would always have a space with him.

Monday, August 31 dawned warm and clear, with a promise of oppressive heat and humidity as the day wore on; a final farewell to summer. Harry woke slowly, blinking sleepily awake in the morning light. He was curled around Draco’s back, an arm slung around the pale boy’s waist and his head buried in the back of the rumpled blond head. With a yawn, he kissed the warm neck in front of him and paused to assess the room they were currently habitating. It had been one of the last things that they’d worked on, Harry afraid that by altering it, he would lose its connection with Sirius. In the end, the changes they’d made struck a perfect balance of its previous and current occupants. Gone were the scantily clad Muggle girls, but the motorcycles and nods to Gryffindor remained, as did the photographs of the Marauders. Several new touches had been added, however, including photos of Harry’s friends and the Weasleys; a framed copy of that first, pivotal article in the Daily Prophet positing that Harry and Draco were romantically involved; new, sheer curtains to replace the old velvet ones and brighten the room up significantly; Molly’s quilt adorning the bed; and several of the plants from Neville. Harry smiled to himself, feeling content and safe and at home. He was going to miss it here when they left for school tomorrow.

At the feeling of lips pressing softly against his neck, the blond in Harry's arms gave a soft whine, not yet ready to let himself be pulled from sleep. There was still a lot to pack and to make sure that things were set up for them to leave for school — but the bed was warm and Harry's arms were comforting. Draco lifted a hand and let the tips of his fingers trail along Harry's stubbled jaw. He turned his head slightly, cracking one eye open as he gave the Gryffindor a soft and sleepy kiss and muttered, "G'morning."

“Morning,” Harry responded fondly, gazing down at his adorably sleepy boyfriend. He nuzzled the soft skin behind the other boy’s ear. “What should we do with our last day of freedom?”

Malfoy hummed softly and settled once more against Harry's chest as he mused, "For now I just want to enjoy waking up next to you before we’re separated into different dorms for the next year. Although, I have always wanted to break into Gryffindor Tower; I wonder how often I’ll be able to get away with it?"

Harry smiled against Draco’s neck, closing his eyes again and enjoying their warm cocoon. “S’pose that’ll depend on how many other people are sneaking partners in and out. Can’t say I paid much attention in past years, but then, I _was_ always a bit preoccupied.” He snuggled in, shifting his arm to pull Draco even closer. “I definitely prefer you sneaking to me over me sneaking to you, though. Didn’t much fancy the Slytherin dorm when I was there.”

The Slytherin chuckled, letting himself be pulled in as he stretched and let his eyes adjust to the morning light that was spilling in through Harry's window. "The Slytherin common room is perhaps a bit less than homey, but the actual dorm rooms are very well appointed. I think you would find it rather comfortable if you gave it a chance."

“Mmm,” Harry acquiesced. “Well, I s’pose I can at least take a look. But Gryffindor Tower is great; I love it there. I think you’ll like it.” He sighed. “It’ll be weird waking up without you.”

"I'd like for you to at least give it a try one time," Draco replied with a smile, "I know it's not as easy embracing Slytherin stuff after everything, but it would be nice, I think." The blond turned in Harry's arms to face him and asked, "Are you fully packed, or do you still need to work on that?"

“I like embracing some Slytherin things,” Harry teased, grinning at his own joke as he hugged his boyfriend again, “but, yeah, I’m basically packed. I chucked everything in my new trunk straight from Diagon Alley, so there wasn’t much to do in the first place.” Having left a great deal of his school things at the Dursleys’ the previous summer, assuming he wouldn’t need any of it again, Harry had needed to purchase just about everything new for this year. Robes, especially, as his old ones would have been rather too short by now even if he had kept them. He supposed he could have tried going back to Privet Drive to see if any of it was salvageable, but he hadn’t particularly wanted to, and anyway, he was reasonably sure that Vernon would have burned it all at the first opportunity.

Harry and Draco had stopped by Diagon together the week before to replenish their supplies. They’d considered going under glamours but ultimately had decided to brave whatever attention came their way, knowing they wouldn’t always be able to avoid it. Several industrious members of the press had indeed followed them around, shouting overly personal questions as they attempted to find their school books, until Harry had rolled his eyes and pulled Draco to him, kissing him rather more deeply than was strictly necessary right there in the middle of Flourish and Blotts until they were surrounded by a cloud of purple camera smoke. That had seemed to answer most people’s questions, and after that, they were allowed to finish their shopping more or less in peace.

"Ha ha. Very funny, Potter." Draco sneered playfully in response to the Gryffindor's joke. "I think I have everything I need, but I made a list and I’d like to check over my trunk one last time before we go, just to make sure. I would hate to get there and be forgetting something obvious." The Slytherin extracted himself from Harry's grip and sat up in the bed, stretching his arms over his head, and said, "I suppose we better get up and start the day."

“Nooooo,” Harry groaned, burrowing into his boyfriend’s lap and wrapping his arms back around his waist like a koala. “Stop being organized and responsible. I’ve already got Hermione in my life for that.”

"Oh, you poor man," Draco chuckled as he looked down at the other boy. "Neither Granger nor myself have anyone to focus all of our anal retentive tendencies at all school year other than you. You had better hope we make some other friends, or your entire year is going to be scheduled and color coded."

Letting out a pitiable groan, Harry released Draco and rolled over. “I changed my mind,” he grumbled into a pillow, “I’m not going back to school. I’m sticking with the original plan — eccentric man of leisure.” Then, sighing, he sat up. “All right, fine, check your lists and all that. Can I make you breakfast before you go at least?”

"Too late to change your mind, Pookie. Our headmistress is expecting you, and it would be just plain rude to let her down," Draco replied as he slipped out of the bed, leaning over to press his lips against Harry's brow. As he pulled back, he added with a smile, "Breakfast sounds lovely."

Harry didn’t bother to get dressed, instead shuffling downstairs in his flannel pajama bottoms and holey tee. Putting on water for tea, he turned to Draco, who had followed him to the kitchen. “Pancakes?” he asked on a yawn.

Draco had slipped into his bathrobe before leaving Harry's room, knowing that Granger would likely be up shortly to compulsively check her own packing much the way he was planning to and would not be particularly thrilled to see him wandering about the house in his pants. He went to the window, opening it up for Prongs and Archimedes, letting them in from their nightly hunting before refreshing the water in their cages. As he worked, dealing with his owl headhunting him and gifting him with a dead mouse, he said over his shoulder, "Pancakes will be just fine, Potter."

The two boys moved around each other, their morning routine already a familiar dance. Harry felt a pang, knowing that this would be the last such morning for several months at least.

Soon, they sat at the table, sipping their tea and eating their breakfast. Hermione wandered in, her bushy hair chaotic, and poured herself a mug of tea with half-lidded eyes before shuffling out again, mumbling about checklists.

When they were alone again, Harry swallowed a bite of pancake and cleared his throat. “So since it’s the last night before we leave,” he ventured, “will you be able to come back, or do you need to spend it with your mother?”

Picking at his own breakfast, Malfoy replied casually, "I was _intending_ on coming back around, bringing my stuff over so that we can all head to the platform together." After a moment of thought, he added, "Though, if you wanted, I could just meet you there tomorrow morning. I could understand not wanting to deal with both Granger and I being neurotic."

“I definitely want you to come back,” Harry assured the other boy, blushing slightly at the relief in his own tone. “I know we’ll have the holidays, but… it’s not going to be the same at school. I want one more night just us before we have to wake up in a room full of other people.” He smirked slightly. “And if you get too neurotic, I’ll just spike your tea with calming draught.”

With a soft snort of laughter, Malfoy replied over the rim of his mug of tea, "You plan to drug me? Merlin's sake, Potter. Does Granger get drugged, too, or is that special treatment for romantic partners only?"

Harry grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He winked at Draco cheekily before taking another large bite of pancake.

"Actually, no, I wouldn't," Draco said with a smile. "It will keep things interesting if I’m unaware. Plus, I should probably always be on a low dose of calming draught anyway."

The Slytherin took a few bites of the breakfast Potter had made for him and stood from his seat, never really being one to finish breakfast anyway, even when he was not anxious. He leaned over to press a kiss to Harry's cheek, lifting one hand to scratch at the brunet’s scalp gently as he said, "I'm going to get dressed and head out to get my things. I'll see you this afternoon."

Harry leaned into Draco’s hand, humming contentedly. “Okay,” he replied. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be around.”

Once Draco had departed, Harry puttered around his house for a bit until Hermione’s frantic list-checking and unpacking and repacking finally sent him running. He thought about stopping by Diagon Alley to see Ron and George but then remembered that it would likely be swamped with last-minute school shoppers, so at the last moment, he detoured to Andromeda’s to spend some time with Teddy before he left for school. Teddy still wasn’t old enough to do anything particularly interesting, but Harry spent a pleasant day bouncing the infant on his knee while he chatted with Andromeda, whom he had been getting to know better bit by bit.

Draco's morning was not quite as pleasant. Since he and Potter had been publicly outed and become an official couple, he had spent as little time at his estate as he could manage, finding the whole place incredibly dreary and full of bad memories. He still had not moved back into the Manor proper, choosing to remain in the guest house on the grounds that was meant for a groundskeeper to live in.

He had _not_ made this place his home. It was full of boxes of decorations, as well as serving as storage for old brooms and Quidditch supplies. He had not allowed the house elves to clean it out, either, as he kept telling himself it was just temporary while he worked through his issues with staying in his actual quarters.

The blond stepped over several boxes to reach the makeshift bedroom he had set up, which was essentially just a bed and his Hogwarts trunk. Almost all of his belongings were stashed inside the trunk already and simply needed to be accounted for. It was organized well enough that it did not take long for him to do that, and then all that was left was to say goodbye to his mother with a promise to see her on the holidays over the school year. The promise was met with a cool assurance that it was unnecessary.

They did not hug. There were no tearful goodbyes as there had been in years past. Instead, he received only a simple nod as Narcissa went back to nursing her bottle of wine.

With a sigh and a heavy heart, which he resolved to keep bottled away, Draco left the grounds of the estate and apparated back to Grimmauld Place, sitting on the front stoop and cracking open his new Potions textbook as he waited for Harry to return home — determined not to let his disappointment show in the slightest, much as he had tried to do for most of the summer.

Harry was surprised to find Malfoy already settled onto the front steps when he returned in the late afternoon. “Sorry, I didn’t expect you back so soon,” he said, offering a hand to help the other boy up. “You should’ve owled, I would have come back.”

Draco stowed the book he was attempting to read away once he heard the distinct crack of apparition, looking up at Harry with his most winning smile. "It's fine. I’m sure you had things you needed to do. I didn’t mind reading a while; sitting in the warm sun was nice, anyway. What did you get up to with your last day as a free man?"

“Ran away from Hermione,” Harry said with a grin, “and went to see Teddy and Andromeda for a bit. He’s not crawling yet, but she says he probably will be by the holidays. How was home?”

With an amused snort, Malfoy reached out to take Harry's hand and stood, grabbing his trunk by the handle as he did so. "I’m glad you avoided some craziness and got to see your godson. Not a bad way to spend the day." He gave a shrug and replied casually, "Home was fine. Rather uneventful, really. Just checked my things and bid my mother a fond farewell."

Harry smiled, dropping Draco’s hand to open the door for the boy and his luggage. “D’you know, this’ll be the first time I’ve been in charge of my own departure for the train; I’ve just realized,” he mused as he got the door open and ushered his boyfriend in. “The Dursleys took me first year, and I’ve gone with the Weasleys ever since. Thank Merlin, you and Hermione are here with your scary organization, or I probably wouldn’t make it tomorrow.”

"It is also my first year of self-sufficiency," Draco admitted as he rolled his trunk in and set it to the side. "I always had my parents, but honestly, my father was the one that took the longest to get out of the house, and nearly every close call we had getting there was his fault, so I would wager I’ll be better off. And I promise I will make sure you get both on _and_ off of the train on time this year. You might even be able to hear the Sorting Hat do what I am sure will be its most depressing speech to date."

Closing the door behind him, Harry leaned back against it at this, dropping his head backward in dejection. “Oh, fucking Merlin, I didn’t even think about that,” he sighed. Straightening his head, he cocked an eyebrow at Malfoy. “Although I think it’s fair to note that the only time I didn’t make it _off_ the train on time, it was because _somebody_ put me in a full body bind and broke my nose.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and replied coolly, "Perhaps _someone_ might not have done so if you had not been stalking them. Or if you had stalked them with a bit more stealth."

“In my defense, I thought you were up to something,” Harry responded, “which, you _were_.” He gave a lopsided grin. “Granted, you weren’t all the OTHER times I spent watching you, but you win some, you lose some, right?” He pushed off the door, sliding his hands around Draco’s waist, and said apologetically, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. We were both awful to each other. But we’ve grown up since then, yeah? And I like us much better this way.”

"Your suspicions were completely sound,” Draco agreed. “Even the times I was not _actively_ up to something, I was still _plotting_ being up to something," the Slytherin admitted wryly as Harry's hands came to rest on his sides and his own were wrapped around the Gryffindor's shoulders. "I do agree that I prefer our new dynamic much more. Cuddles and blow jobs are quite a bit more appealing than punching and hexes. Definitely an improvement."

Harry grinned. “You’re such a prat. All posh when you talk about everyday stuff, and then you sum up our relationship as ‘cuddles and blow jobs.’ Romantic.” He leaned in and, still smiling, pressed a kiss to the blond’s lips.

"If it helps," Draco responded with a smile against Harry's lips, "those are not even my favourite parts." He pulled back and added with a shrug, "They are pretty high on the list, mind you,” he teased before turning serious. “But my favourite parts are knowing that I can depend on you. Knowing that you understand me like no one else possibly could. Knowing that you love me, even if I _am_ a prat. Maybe even _because_ I am."

“Bit of both,” Harry joked, but his voice was soft. “I love you,” he murmured, “prattishness and all. You wouldn’t be you without it. And anyway, nice people are boring. Have you _met_ my friends?”

"I have, actually. And from what I can tell, they’re rather nice people." Draco laughed before adding, "At least when compared to me and mine." The blond pressed a kiss to Harry's cheek before pulling away and asking, "Anything special you wanted to do on your last day of summer?"

“I’m telling Ron you think he’s nice. He’ll be horrified,” Harry replied as Draco disengaged from his arms. He pondered the other boy’s question. “I dunno, not really. Just spend time with you, I guess. Tomorrow will be chaos, and then the next will be back to classes. You?”

"I intended to be overly clingy and get my fill of cuddles before they separate us," Draco said with a mischievous grin. With a shake of his head, he added, "It will be quite odd sitting at the Slytherin table with you clear across the room all year. I’ve grown more or less fond of your company, and it will be regrettable to be deprived of it."

“Oh, I’m definitely not eating separately from you all year, fuck that,” Harry responded heatedly. “I’m over the whole house system. We’re adults, and I’m a ‘war hero;’ I’ll sit with whoever I want to.” He reached out for Draco’s hand. “Come on, let’s go curl back up in bed while we still can.”

Malfoy smirked as the Gryffindor took his hand, gladly following him back up the stairs towards the man's soft and warm bed, where he would be perfectly content to be lazy for the remainder of their afternoon. As they climbed the stairs, he asked, "You would dine with the snakes?"

Harry shrugged. “Why not? Not all the time, obviously, I’ll want to see my other friends, too, but…” he sighed. When they reached the bedroom, he toed off his trainers and pulled Draco toward the bed with him. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the houses,” he continued. “How different things could have been if they hadn’t set us all up as rivals and enemies when we were so young. Aside from wanting to be with you, it might help for students to see people like you and me ignoring those expectations.” Climbing onto the bed, he admitted softly, “I don’t want any other kids to have to go through the things we did.”

Draco let himself collapse on the bed, landing partially across Harry's lap as he listened to the other boy speak. From his place face down on the duvet, he mused, "Even if they hadn't segregated us into different houses and pitted us against one another, I likely still would have been a prat to you." The blond rolled onto his back and added, "But sure, we can be their fabulous role models for inter-house unity and romance. It will be fun."

“Oh, yeah, I would’ve hated you no matter what, but _some_ of the Slytherins aren’t so bad. Probably.” He ran a hand through Malfoy’s silky hair absently. “I mean, I can’t think of any examples, but that’s sort of the point, I suppose; the only Slytherins I can even name off the top of my head are you, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, and Zabini, and all I know of any of them but Zabini is how they fit into your life.” He looked down at his boyfriend fondly. “Not that I was obsessed or anything. I just had to keep tabs on my nemesis. It was very important research.”

Harry shifted, curling up on his side so that he could face Draco. Tracing a finger over the fine bones of the other boy’s face, he pondered softly, “It's so weird how much I used to hate you and how much I love you now. I can’t stand how beautiful you are sometimes.” He laughed at himself slightly. “Sorry, I’m being such a sap today. Tomorrow just feels really big, somehow. Everything is different now.”

"Most of them don’t fit into my life at all anymore," Draco murmured with a bit more sadness than he had intended. He quickly pushed the thoughts aside, smiling up at the Gryffindor as Harry gently caressed his cheek. "It’s a little odd for me as well, that you could forgive me for everything and come to love me."

“No weirder than you loving me, probably,” Harry answered. His hand continued to trail over Malfoy’s pale skin, tracing the sharp contours of his jaw, the curve of his ear, the long line of his neck. “It’s okay to be sad about your friends, you know,” he told Draco softly. “In front of me, I mean. You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt to lose people, even if they were sometimes terrible. Even if they were MOSTLY terrible, even. You can hurt in front of me. You’re strong for me all the time. I can be strong for you, too.”

"I'm fine, Potter," Draco replied in an even tone as he lay there facing the other boy, though he no longer met his eyes. "I don't need to _hurt_ in front of you, and I don't need you to be strong for me. I’ve come to terms with the fact that my actions and the actions of my family had consequences and that they are not pleasant. My friends are dead or scattered to the wind. There isn't much point in wallowing."

Harry grimaced and pulled his hand back. “Sorry,” he said, rolling onto his back. “I wasn’t trying to…” He breathed out heavily through his nose. “Never mind.”

Draco raised a brow as Harry rolled onto his back, ending their contact. He knew that he didn’t have much room to be upset, as he was the one that had shifted the tone of their conversation, but it didn’t stop him from mirroring the movement and crossing his arms over his chest as he looked up to the ceiling. He set his jaw and replied through gritted teeth, "Whatever."

Abruptly, Harry sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling hurt and disappointed and a bit emotionally whiplashed. “I’m going to go get a drink; do you want one?” he asked, not looking at Draco and attempting to keep his voice light but failing rather miserably.

"No." Draco replied flatly as Harry moved to get up from the bed. The Slytherin rolled to his side, facing away from the edge where Harry now sat, keeping his arms tightly around himself.

“Fine.” Harry stood, feeling heavier than he had only moments before. He didn’t bother with his shoes as he left the room, padding in his socked feet down to the parlour. He moved to the bar and pulled out a glass and a bottle of firewhiskey, but then just stood, staring at nothing.

It wasn’t the first time that Draco had deflected discussing his own feelings, but the reaction had been sharper than usual and prickled uncomfortably at the edges of Harry’s confidence. One of the reasons he loved being with Draco was that he didn’t have to pretend to be okay like he did with everyone else. It was okay for him to be a bit broken by everything that had happened to him. It made him feel safe, to be free to express that brokenness. But Draco obviously didn’t feel the same sense of safety with him, and it hurt. It made him feel fragile in a way he couldn’t stomach, like Draco didn’t think he could handle it.

Harry let his hands drop from the tumbler and bottle, placing them instead on the top of the bar and leaning his weight onto them, letting his head droop. He’d just been trying to open a door for Draco. He shouldn’t be so stung that Draco hadn’t wanted to walk through it. But his emotions were already running high; he was already trying not to worry about what the school year would bring for their relationship, when they weren’t safe in the bubble of Grimmauld Place and Harry’s loved ones. On top of that, the rejection felt harsher; more pointed and more ominous.

Draco lay on the bed for several minutes, the room conspicuously quiet now that Harry had dismissed himself from his presence. He let out a sigh as he tried to wrap his head around why he was so upset by the offer to be there for him and sit with him through any vulnerability he saw fit to share.

He had not truly shared his experiences of having Voldemort living in his home. He certainly had not spoken about what it was like to see one of his closest friends die in Fiendfyre. And he had avoided entirely the fact that his father was in Azkaban and would soon be facing the Dementor's Kiss. All of these things, on top of his mother not being able to stand even looking him in the face anymore.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself into a sitting position, hanging his head in shame as he stood and followed the path that Harry had taken downstairs. The Slytherin did not make his way fully into the parlour, pausing in the doorway, his arms still wrapped around himself, now far less defensively and more like a self-hug as he looked in at Harry, who was obviously upset. He cleared his throat softly to announce his presence before saying softly, "Harry… I'm sorry."

Harry’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t turn. “It’s fine, it’s just…” He shook his head, unwilling to look up. He needed to get some of his thoughts out, and he couldn’t do so if he had to look at Draco. “I’ve told you things about me that I’ve never told anyone, not even Ron and Hermione,” he finally said, shrugging and staring at the bar top, “but you don’t seem to want to tell me anything. It’s like pulling teeth trying to get you to open up sometimes. And you shouldn’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, obviously, but…” he sighed. “It feels like… I don’t know.” Finally, he turned to look at his boyfriend, his eyes full of pain and uncertainty. “Do you even trust me? Do you even want to actually _be_ with me, or do you just want to fix me? Because I’m not fragile, Draco. I may be damaged, but I don’t need protecting.”

Draco let his eyes fall to the floor as Harry spoke, feeling as if there were a large lump in his throat that he could not swallow down. When Harry finished speaking, Malfoy felt his shoulders shaking as he managed to reply, "I want to be with you. I'm not trying to fix you... it's just..." He took a breath, closing his eyes tightly as he replied, "Why would you want to hear me say that I miss Vince when he died while he was trying to kill you? Or that I miss Pansy when she was willing to hand you over to the Dark Lord? My friends are... _were_ terrible."

Malfoy took in a sharp, stuttering breath and continued, "Why does it matter that my mother said it wasn't necessary for me to bother coming home on the holidays and can't stand to talk to me any more? Or that my father is going to be put to death? You said you would have liked to see my bigoted toerag of a father gone for good anyway. And what right do I have to complain about the Dark Lord living in my guest room when you had him living in your brain?"

Listening to the torrent of words falling from Malfoy’s mouth, Harry could feel his heart breaking for the other boy. The news of his mother’s rejection, especially, was horrifying. Harry’s own hurt feelings began to crumble away as he tried to absorb everything that the other boy had been holding back. “Draco…” he said, watching the other boy helplessly. “Of course, I want to know. Of course, it _matters._ They’re _people_ , and they’re important to you, and you’re hurting. Of _course,_ I want to know, because I love you and I want you to be okay. I want to _help_ you be okay.” He sighed, tipping his head back to look up at the ceiling. “The thing I said about your dad… I hate him. I can’t help it. He tried to kill me and people I love, but that doesn’t mean I expect _you_ to hate him or that you can’t tell me how you feel about what’s happening. He’s your _dad.”_ As an afterthought, he added, _“_ And what the Ministry is doing is disgusting, and I’ve been trying to stop it. No one deserves that.”

"I know that he did terrible things and wasn’t a great person. You have every right to hate him, as does everyone else. I don't think there is anyone other than me and my mother that will even mourn him. And if he knew who I am, he would hate me just as much as my mother does. But I don't want him to die," Malfoy brought one hand up to his face, wiping at his eyes with one knuckle as he took a breath, trying with all his might to get those feelings back under control, which proved difficult now that he had given them voice. He lifted his head and said, "You don't have to listen to me being pathetic, Potter. I’ll be fine eventually."

Harry crossed the room, leaning close and tentatively placing a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. “I _want_ to listen,” he told the other boy softly. “I don’t want you to have to hold it in. That’s the whole point, Draco. It doesn’t matter what he did. All that matters is that it matters to _you._ Please. Let me be here for you. Please let me, Draco.”

The blond lifted his eyes as Harry laid his hand on him, finding it harder than ever to keep his composure, and so, he did the next best thing, which was to close the small space between them and hide his face in the crook of Harry's neck so that he at least did not have to be looked at while he cried at the other man.

Harry wrapped his arms around the shaking form of his boyfriend, holding him tightly. “Hey,” he murmured, rubbing one hand up and down the other boy’s back, “I’ve got you. You don’t have to be okay.”

Draco clung tightly to the Gryffindor and let himself let go just a bit, though it was only a few brief minutes before he managed to regain some semblance of composure, his breath only barely hitching as he said, "I'm sorry. I didn't want our last day of summer to be like this."

Continuing to rub his back soothingly, Harry shushed Draco. “Don’t be silly,” he said. “You can’t just hold it all in forever. Now’s as good a time as any.” He turned his head to kiss the other boy’s temple. “D’you want to go back upstairs, or should we just stay down here?”

Malfoy was quiet for a few moments before he responded, almost childishly, "I don't want Granger to see me cry."

“Upstairs it is, then,” Harry said, “C’mon.” Releasing Draco from his embrace, he kept one arm around the blond and guided him back toward the stairs.

Draco followed Harry up the stairs, scrubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. He was almost positive that he had caught sight of Granger's door easing quietly shut, but he couldn't be completely certain as they hurried past. Once the pair were safely hidden behind the door of Harry's room, the blond let out a shuddering breath that he had not even been aware that he was holding.

Malfoy brought both of his hands up to his face, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, obscuring his vision. Truly, this was the most pathetic way that he could have imagined ending what had been an amazing summer, all things considered. Quietly, he said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for dumping all of this on you, and I am sorry for not talking about it sooner. I just… I don't know how to do this. I don't _talk about feelings_. I don't know how to be _like this_ without making an utter arse of myself."

Harry snorted as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Malfoy, do I have to remind you of the shit I’ve seen you do? You once _climbed a tree_ just so that you could jump out of it in front of me. I’ve definitely seen you make an arse of yourself before.” His voice softened. “And you aren’t, anyway. Or if you are, it’s less than I have. You think I have any idea how to do this? You’re not the only one who wasn’t raised to share their feelings.”

Draco lifted his head away from his hands and crossed his arms, stating deadpan, "You have zero proof that I was not simply casually sitting in that tree, in all the glory of my gay teenage angst, and that the dramatic entrance was not just a convenient thing that happened." Uncrossing his arms, he stepped forward, sitting on the bed beside Harry and adding, "I'm sorry for being a prat earlier. I will work on the whole… talking… thing."

Harry bumped his shoulder against the other boy’s. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. I don’t mean to assume the worst; it's just that… well, not to be dramatic, but in my life the worst is usually the safest bet.”

"I know it is," Draco replied softly before letting out a sigh and continuing on, "That’s a huge reason why I want to watch myself and not be giving you _reasons_ to assume the worst. We’re moving forward as partners, and our relationship should be a safe place for you. You shouldn't have to be worried about us. Life has dealt you a shit hand, and I don't want to stack the deck against you any further. I will work on the communication thing. I will not be perfect at it. But you should be able to call me on it without me acting… well, like a Malfoy about it."

Harry snorted softly but then shrugged. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I just don’t want you to have to hold things in. It hurts, to not have people to tell.” He grimaced as he felt his eyes sting at the awkward admission. “Ugh,” he said, wiping an eye with the back of his hand exasperatedly. “Come here.” Turning and wrapping his arms tightly around the other boy, Harry tugged them both clumsily down onto the disheveled quilt, the mattress making a satisfying _whoomph_ as they landed in a tangled heap, legs still dangling off the mattress.

Draco couldn't help the soft laugh that left his lips as he landed in the blankets with Potter clinging to him like a niffler to a bar of gold. He managed to extract one hand from the heap to begin gently carding his fingers through the other boy's disheveled and wild locks of raven hair as he looked up at the ceiling and of the room and said, "Thank you, Potter. For being so… you."

“Couldn’t help it if I tried.” Harry smiled softly into Draco’s jumper where his head had landed, sighing at the tingling feeling of long fingers lightly grazing his scalp. After quietly enjoying the sensation for a minute, he sighed and scooted himself up the bed until he was oriented correctly with his head at the top of the bed, dragging Draco up alongside him. Once they were aligned to his liking, facing each other on one of the soft pillows, Harry leaned forward and kissed the other boy softly, barely grazing their lips together before retreating. He gazed at the blond for a moment before leaning in and kissing him again, lingering a little longer this time before pulling away. “It really is impossible not to kiss you,” he sighed in quiet exasperation. “I’m going to drive the staff batty mooning over you.”

The blond shifted himself along with Harry and hummed softly into the gentle kiss that was pressed to his lips. As Harry pulled back and spoke, Malfoy gave him a self-satisfied smirk and replied, "I imagine that you would only be mooning if you deprive yourself. You could always just give in to the temptation and allow me to continue corrupting you."

Harry huffed out a quiet laugh. “What do you think will annoy McGonagall more, if I’m constantly pining at you from across the room or if she keeps finding us snogging in the halls?”

Draco gave a half grin and replied amusedly, "That is a tough call. I suppose we will simply have to experiment with it to gauge her reaction. We’ll know which is more effective when we wind up in detention for inappropriate conduct."

Smirking, Harry moved in closer to the blond once more. “Deal,” he whispered against the other boy’s lips, before pressing forward to kiss him again, trying to pour all of his fondness and love into the simple gesture.

A soft hum left Draco's lips as Harry took them with his own, kissing him thoroughly. The Slytherin parted his lips for the other, deepening the kiss as he shifted his hand to tangle his slender fingers once again into Harry's hair, pulling him in as he shifted his body closer to press their chests together. This moment between them was something that he needed — able to forget his troubles, if only for just a bit. To exist in this space in which they were just Harry and Draco, two idiot boys mad for each other. The rest didn't matter.

With a contented sigh, Harry allowed Draco to take the lead, melting into the other boy’s movements. They were still working on the whole verbal communication thing, but this… this was where they understood each other perfectly. Allowing himself to be tugged even closer to the Slytherin, he grazed his hand along the long line of Draco’s torso, reveling in the feel of warm skin under thin fabric. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of touching this man.

The blond arched slightly under Harry's touch, shifting one leg to wrap around the other boy's to tangle them together. He pulled back from the kiss enough to dip his head down to press his lips along Harry's jaw and throat, mumbling softly against the warm skin, "I love you, Harry. This is the only thing in my life that has ever really felt good and right."

Malfoy’s words ached in Harry’s chest, and his fingers tightened on the other boy’s side, clinging like he was afraid that the moment would slip away if he let go. “I love you,” he whispered hoarsely, shifting so that green eyes met silver “I love you so fucking much it hurts.” Pressing forward, he kissed the Slytherin hard, and then softer, seeking entrance to the other boy’s mouth with his tongue, clenching fingers still hanging on for all he was worth.

Draco gave a soft moan at the rough kiss, immediately opening his mouth for the other boy when he was prompted to, letting his tongue deftly sweep across Potter's to savour the taste of him. He shifted his hand to slip along Harry's side to the hem of his jumper, which he slipped his fingers under, letting his well-manicured nails scrape gently against the Gryffindor's warm skin.

Harry gasped into the kiss as Draco’s fingers found skin, the sensation at once familiar and thrilling. Sliding his own fingers beneath the other boy’s shirt, he basked in the feel of soft skin beneath his calloused fingertips, the way his hand curved perfectly over the thinner boy’s ribcage. Pulling out of the kiss and resting his forehead against Malfoy’s, Harry edged the shirt upwards, aiming to remove it, but paused, unsure. “Okay?” he asked, his voice rough, anxious for more skin but realizing he didn’t want to push for physical intimacy when his boyfriend was already in a fragile emotional space.

The Slytherin nodded, pressing his lips more firmly against the other's before mumbling against them, "Gods, yes." He pulled back from the kiss, laying back and reaching his arms over his head to allow Harry to rid him of his shirt, a playful smirk on his lips.

Harry wasted no time in straddling the now-supine Draco and slipping the shirt over the other boy’s head. Quickly divesting himself of his own shirt, he lowered himself down until he was prone above the Slytherin, holding his weight back slightly on his forearms, just enough to allow him to go back to kissing Malfoy senseless while also pressing their bare skin together. Shifting his weight to one arm, Harry freed his other hand to travel down Draco’s pale torso, soon following his fingers with his lips and tongue and teeth, leaving a trail of butterfly-soft kisses on goosebumped skin and nipping possessively at neck and clavicle and hip bone. Sliding his thumb under the waistband of the Slytherin’s trousers, he traced along the soft, sensitive skin he found there, feeling the muscles jump under his touch. These past weeks had allowed him the opportunity to learn just how to make his boyfriend incoherent with want, and he enthusiastically made use of every bit of knowledge he’d gleaned.

Malfoy let out a series of soft moans as Harry kissed and bit at his skin, leaving barely red marks, which stood out starkly on his nearly porcelain skin. The blond squirmed under the other's touch, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth to worry at it as he gripped the pillow while Potter teased at his hips. His breath was quickly becoming ragged and heavy, and he looked down along the length of his body to where Harry knelt. "Merlin. You are sexy as Hell, Potter," he breathed.

Harry grinned and, looking up at the obviously-flustered blond, began to undo the other boy’s trousers. “I feel like that compliment carries a little less weight when I’m this close to sucking you off,” he teased as he began to ease the fabric off the Slytherin’s bony hips.

A wide Cheshire Cat grin spread across Draco's face as a genuine laugh left him. He quickly rearranged his features instead to a playful pout, reaching down to gently slip his fingers into Harry's hair as he said, "A compliment is a compliment, Pookie. And you are sexy all the time—" he smirked and added with a raised brow, "Though, having a mouthful of my cock is a _very_ good look for you."

Harry couldn’t help but snort with mirth at the response, biting the other boy’s hip again both to stifle his own laughter and to lightly punish his boyfriend for his cheek. Refusing to let himself be derailed, however, he quickly slid himself backwards across the bed until he could drag Draco’s trousers and underwear off. Prowling his way back upward, he laved his tongue in one long line from base to tip of his boyfriend’s very erect cock. “Much better,” he decided, smiling mischievously up at the blond once more.

The bite to his hip brought a surprised yelp from the Slytherin, but he chuckled again as he shifted his hips to help Harry get the fabric off of him. The blond's mouth fell open with a gasp at the feeling of his boyfriend's tongue on him. He whined softly and looked down at the other with a more genuine pout when Harry stopped to tease. He squirmed beneath Potter's touch and pleaded, " _Harry,_ don't stop."

“I didn’t intend to,” Harry assured with a smirk. “I’m just taking time to enjoy myself. Is that a problem?” He gazed up at Draco, all wide-eyed innocence, made slightly less believable by the way his lips and tongue were now tracing idly up and down his boyfriend’s length, occasionally settling over the head to tease lightly before traveling onward, never using enough pressure to give Draco quite the sensation he sought.

Draco moaned loudly, head flopping heavily back onto the pillow as Harry resumed the gentle and teasing motions with his mouth, each little touch and lick making Malfoy's mind a bit fuzzier and his body warmer and more sensitive. He wanted to feel his length buried in the warmth of Harry's mouth but knew that voicing as much would only encourage Harry to take even longer.

Relishing what might be the last chance he had for several months to take his time with his partner, Harry continued his leisurely exploration until he was sure he had driven both of them nearly to the edge of sanity, at which point he unceremoniously swallowed the other boy down. Without pausing, he moved into the rhythm he knew Draco liked best, his mouth sliding smoothly over the other boy’s length, out toward the head and then back inward toward where his hand held the base in a rapid, unrelenting onslaught.

Harry had teased him to the point that Draco felt he was mere moments away from cursing or crying — perhaps both. But then, thankfully, Harry gave in fully, causing the blond's back to arch dramatically and his fingers to grip the sheets beneath him. Malfoy let out a moan and called out the other boy's name, his voice unable to mask his lust and desperation.

The sounds coming from the other boy only urged Harry on. As he sensed Draco nearing the edge, he pulled off with a wet pop, continuing his ministrations with rapid movements of his hand as he watched the Slytherin’s face in fascination. He loved watching Malfoy come apart like this, his careful composure falling by the wayside in favor of flushed skin, glassy eyes, parted lips, and sweat-tousled hair.

The image that Malfoy presented Harry with as his climax crept upon him was completely uncomposed — his mouth hanging agape as he moaned for the other and began to thrust into the motions of Potter's hand. He could feel the familiar pressure building inside him and knew beyond a doubt that his normally pale cheeks would be a shade of red comparable to the Gryffindor banner that hung on the far wall of the room. When he came, it was with a shout of his boyfriend's name and the momentary thought that he _maybe_ should have put up a silencing charm since they were not alone in the house.

As he watched Draco begin to come down from his high, Harry realized that he was panting as well. Pulling his wand from where it was somehow still stowed in his back jeans pocket, he swiftly vanished the mess before clambering back up the length of Malfoy’s body to kiss him some more. “Fuck, that was hot,” he breathed, pressing kisses against his boyfriend’s temple and cheekbone before collapsing, half on top of him.

Draco hummed softly into the kiss, bringing his hands up to wrap loosely around Harry as the Gryffindor slumped against him. Malfoy brought his lower lip between his teeth for just a moment and then said, almost sheepishly, "I would be okay with going further. If you wanted to."

Without his permission, Harry’s head came up, and his stunned eyes met Malfoy’s. “You mean you want to… you’d let me…?” His stomach fluttered a bit at the thought. He’d considered it, of course — at great length and with a good deal of lube involved, if he was being honest with himself — but the idea was almost unbearably intimate.

A bashful smile found its way to Malfoy's lips as Harry looked up at him with wide and excited eyes, much like a puppy that was being thrown a bone. He nodded softly and replied, "If you want me… then I want you."

“I want you,” Harry assured him fervently, his voice quiet but sure, “You have no idea how much I want you.”

"I think that I have a bit of an idea," Malfoy replied with a soft laugh. There was a bit of a mischievous glint in his eye as he leaned forward enough to whisper lightly in Harry's ear, "How would you like me, Potter?"

Harry gave a full body shiver. “ _Fuck,_ ” he exhaled. “I want… I’d like to be able to see your face,” he managed, feeling a bit embarrassed about how much more important that was to him than anything else, “but really, anything you want; I just want you.”

Draco gave the lobe of Harry's ear a playful nip before pulling back enough to be able to roll over, out from beneath the other man to the side of the bed where his overnight bag sat on the floor, fully aware that he would be giving the Gryffindor a good look at his backside as he did so. He quickly unzipped one pocket to grab a small bottle of lubrication that he had been storing in there for around a month at this point, waiting for this moment to actually be upon them.

Turning back to his companion, Malfoy did his best to not let the nervous flush on his cheeks sway his confidence as he pushed on Harry's shoulder to urge him onto his back. The Slytherin leaned forward to press a few soft kisses along Harry's chest and abdomen as his hands found their way to the fly of his trousers, which Draco began to unbuckle as he murmured against the other's skin, "I’ve wanted you for so very long, Potter."

Harry’s breaths grew shallow as he watched Draco’s fingers undoing his fastenings. At Malfoy’s words, the Gryffindor leaned up, pulling the other boy upright and kissing him deeply, using his other hand to assist in his own disrobing.

As he hummed into the kiss, Draco finished removing the trousers that Harry wore, tugging them and his underwear off of his hips and throwing them to the floor. After a few moments, he pulled back from the kiss enough to locate the bottle of lube, which he opened and poured an incredibly liberal amount of into his palm. He was not entirely sure how much was the right amount but figured that he would rather deal with too much than he would too little. The flush on his cheeks increased as he lowered his hand to grasp Harry's length, coating the whole of him in the slick substance.

Harry groaned helplessly at the feeling of Malfoy’s lube-slicked palm encasing him. “Jesus, fuck,” he muttered, trying to rein himself in, desperately hoping that he could keep himself in check long enough to actually get to enjoy what they were doing.

Draco chuckled softly and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to Harry's lips as he released his length and climbed onto the Gryffindor's lap. He brought his bottom lip between his teeth to worry at it as he watched Harry closely and brought one hand in between them to grasp the other once again and help to position him correctly. He let out a small breath and asked, "Are you positive that you are ready for this, Potter?"

Harry nodded, maintaining eye contact. “Definitely,” he murmured, raising one hand to cup the pale face above him; “I want this with you. I love you.”

Draco smiled softly and began to lower himself onto Harry's slicked length, moving incredibly slowly as his body adjusted to the intrusion of Harry pushing into him. He gave a loud gasp as the head of Harry's shaft sank into him—the feeling unlike anything he had experienced before. There was a bit of pain, but it began to ebb within a few seconds and then disappeared as he began to take more of the other into him.

Harry’s eyes slammed shut as the intense sensation of Malfoy engulfing him threatened to push him immediately over the edge, but he forced his lids back open almost immediately, determined not to miss a moment of what was happening. He watched in fascination as the blond slowly impaled himself, moving his hands to the other boy’s hips so that he could feel every micro movement of muscles.

Malfoy's jaw was slack as he continued to lower himself onto Harry's cock, taking him slowly in, inch by lovely inch. When he had finally sheathed the whole of the other man, he was once again fully erect, and his legs were trembling slightly. He paused for a few beats to adjust to the feeling of fullness before he began to move. At first his movements were slow — measured, languid rolls of his hips — but he soon began to build up a steady rhythm, his hands pressed against Harry's chest for support, his nails biting into Harry's skin. As he moved, he panted, "Gods, Potter. You feel so fucking good."

“Fuck, Malfoy,” Harry managed, his voice choked, “Oh, _god,_ yes.” The heat and the friction and pressure were unbelievable, the sharp sting of nails into his pectorals just barely grounding him; he was drowning in sensation. “Jesus… FUCK,” he ground out, unable to stop himself from bucking up into the other man, bracing his feet on the bed and meeting Draco’s rhythm with sharp thrusts of his hips. His fingers tightened around the blond’s waist, and he found himself vaguely hoping he wouldn’t bruise the delicate skin, as he seemed to be almost entirely out of control of his body’s reactions.

The initial comment was met with a slight smirk, and a witty retort was a mere moment away; it never left the blond's lips, however, lost as Harry began to move his hips roughly upward, driving himself deep into Malfoy's body. Instead, the sound that Draco made was more akin to a yelp, and each thrust was met with another, the volume of them steadily increasing. The feeling of Harry's hands on his hips, forcing his body downward to meet each upward thrust that filled him completely was enough to make Draco's mind go fuzzy — all higher thought replaced with pure carnal pleasure.

Draco did his best to keep his eyes on Harry's, knowing that the boy had wanted to see his face, and he was sure it was quite a sight — slack-jawed and flushed, now-disheveled blond hair bouncing with each movement. He was certain that he looked the complete opposite of his normally refined and composed self, but he could not be arsed about it as he shifted one hand from Harry's chest to instead grasp his own member, stroking himself in time with each movement of the boy beneath him.

Harry’s eyes slid from the other boy’s face as he noticed the blond taking hold of himself. A fuzzy part of his brain thought that maybe he should be helping with that, but he wasn’t sure he had the coordination at the moment to even release his grip on the Slytherin’s hips, let alone take over stroking him. Instead, the Gryffindor looked back up at the man astride him, all flushed-red skin and sweat-darkened hair and wide-blown pupils. “Christ, you’re so fucking hot,” he mumbled, awed.

His legs were beginning to shake, however, and Harry knew he couldn’t keep up his current motions for much longer. Acting on instinct, he used his grasp on the other boy to roll them over so that he was settled between long, pale legs. His movements stuttered for a moment as he reoriented himself, but soon he had returned to his relentless pounding rhythm. “Fuck, I’m so close,” he swore, unable to resist the rising tide of warmth inside him. “Are you close?”

Malfoy gasped when Harry reversed their positions, the new one allowing the Gryffindor to drive himself even more deeply into him with every thrust, which were now unrestrained and relentless, causing the headboard of the bed to hit the wall in a steady rhythm as the mattress squeaked beneath them. At the question, Draco gave a nod, continuing to work his hand along his length in time with Harry's movements. He gasped, "God, yes. Don't stop."

It did not take many more thrusts at that intense pace for Malfoy's climax to creep up on him, spilling cum onto his stomach as his body tightened around Potter's and a shout of the other's name left his lips.

The complete wantonness of Draco’s thrown back head and uncontrolled voice as he came, in combination with the feeling of the other boy tightening around him, was more than enough to push Harry over the edge. With an incoherent groan, Harry felt himself release deep inside the Slytherin, his movements stuttering to a stop until he collapsed in a loose-limbed heap atop the blond.

He lay there for a moment, panting and likely crushing his boyfriend, before muttering an oh-so-eloquent “ _holy shit”_ into the sweaty, flushed skin of Draco’s neck.

The thrusts after his own orgasm had been so intense that Draco found his body shivering when Harry finally settled, his weakened limbs trembling against the other as he tried to catch his breath. At the mumbled curse, Malfoy let out a breathy laugh and shifted his arms to wrap around the Gryffindor, one settling between Harry's shoulders while the other tangled into the damp raven hair at the base of Harry's skull. He turned his head slightly to be able to press his lips against his boyfriend's temple as he replied softly, "That was incredible."

Harry let out what could only be described as a giggle. “Yeah, it was,” he agreed. Turning his head, he pressed a soft kiss to Malfoy’s swollen lips. Then, letting out a contented hum, the Gryffindor collapsed once against the pale body beneath him, rolling slightly to the side so that he was only halfway crushing the lithe form beside him and turning his head so that his cheek was pressed to the other boy’s chest. One hand came up to stroke the Slytherin’s neck, his thumb trailing back and forth over the still-pounding pulse.

Malfoy let his eyes slip shut as Harry began to gently caress his neck. It seemed almost a shame that they had waited until the very last day of summer to do this, he mused, knowing that they were heading to Hogwarts tomorrow and would have their opportunities for it greatly limited. Then again, it might be fun figuring out how to sneak around the castle to steal moments like this with one another. He was certain that they were not the only couple to ever try to do so at the school.

As he lay there, he let out a soft and contented sigh and replied, "We really should have put up a silencing charm. I am fairly certain that we may have just traumatized your friend."

Harry groaned and clenched his eyes shut. “Oh _god_ ,” he moaned in embarrassment, “I didn’t even think; I’m so used to us having the place to ourselves. I’m never going to be able to look her in the face again!”

Draco laughed loudly in response and replied, "In all fairness, I was the loud one — so if anyone is embarrassed, it should probably be me. And I am also reasonably sure that Granger is well aware that people have sex. I have faith that your friendship is resilient enough to get through this."

“I don’t know,” Harry grumbled. “It’s one thing to risk your lives for each other; it’s another to be forced to listen to each other’s sex lives.” He shuddered a bit. “If I had to listen to Ron and Hermione fuck, I think I’d hex myself deaf.”

"Who knows, she might have done just that," Draco chuckled. "Or perhaps decided that it was an excellent time to do some last minute shopping and be pointedly _not here_. I am far more embarrassed about being a crying mess less than an hour ago, honestly. _This_ was far too much fun, and I have wanted it for far too long to have any regrets about it."

Harry grinned into the other boy’s chest. “You’re a strange one, Malfoy,” he stated fondly, “but you’re VERY hot, so I guess it’s okay.” He softened his teasing words with a gentle kiss to the blond’s shoulder. “No regrets,” he murmured.

Malfoy shifted just slightly to be able to tug the quilt over their bodies to shield against the chill that was settling in now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off. As he moved, he replied amusedly, "I am glad you approve of my strange and sexy existence, Pookie." He shifted to rest his cheek against Harry's mop of hair and added, "I’m going to miss being able to stay in your bed. The Slytherin dorms sound very lonely at the moment."

“Yeah,” Harry sighed, the bittersweetness of the moment hanging in the air. “I’m going to hate sleeping alone,” he confessed. “I know we’ll both be there, and we’ll see each other loads, but I’m still going to miss you.” He settled into Malfoy’s side, letting his eyes drift shut. “I’m really glad we got this summer,” he murmured sleepily.

It seemed almost a shame to fall asleep with so little time left of their freedom, but Draco could feel his own eyes growing heavy as Potter settled against him. The Slytherin yawned widely before replying softly, "I am, too. This summer has been the best one I've ever had."

“Me, too,” Harry whispered, and then he was drifting off to sleep.

It was late when Harry roused himself, well past dinner time, and he was still wound tightly around his sleeping boyfriend. He was tempted to stay where he was, but his stomach was growling at him in discontent. Disentangling himself gently, not wanting to disturb Malfoy’s peaceful slumber, Harry found his rumpled clothes and slid back into them before padding his way down to the kitchen.

Hermione was sitting at the table with a cup of tea, flipping through a textbook. When he entered the room, she raised a knowing eyebrow at him, and he immediately felt himself flush all the way up to his hairline.

“Have a nice evening?” she asked him innocently.

Harry groaned and covered his face. “I’m SO sorry,” he mumbled through his hands, “I got caught up, and I honestly forgot you were here until after.”

Hermione laughed. “It’s fine; I put up a silencing charm as soon as I noticed Malfoy’s… ahem… enthusiasm.”

Harry let out another muffled groan before rubbing his hands down his face and managing to look at his friend. “I’m so embarrassed,” he confessed sheepishly.

“Don’t be,” Hermione told him. “You’re both ridiculous, obviously, forgetting you’re wizards at the _most_ inopportune times,” and here she gave him another pointed look, “but I’m glad you’re happy. I never would have guessed it, but… you’re good together.”

Still embarrassed but pleased, Harry gave a small smile. “I’m _really_ happy, ‘Mione.”

“Good,” she answered firmly. “Now get whatever you were down here for and get out; I have studying to do.”

Shaking his head at the fact that Hermione had managed to find a way to study before term even started, Harry made himself a sandwich, throwing together a second just in case Draco was awake when he got back upstairs, and bid Hermione goodnight before heading back to his room.

“Be up by seven!” Hermione called after him.

“The train isn’t until 11!” Harry called back. Whatever answer his friend gave to that was lost to him as he turned a corner on the stairs, heading back up toward his sleeping boyfriend.

Draco had turned in his sleep to grip one of the many pillows on the bed in his arms when Harry had left but had remained peacefully sleeping. It was not until the door shut once again — perhaps a little more loudly than when Harry had exited, thanks to his full hands — that the head of messy blond hair lifted away from the pillow, a small whine leaving his lips at being disturbed. He planted his face back into the pillow but said softly, "What time is it?"

“Sorry,” Harry whispered, grimacing. “Just past eleven. We seem to have shagged ourselves to sleep a little on the early side.” He held out his offering apologetically. “I brought you a sandwich?”

Draco just barely turned his head to be able to look up at the other and asked almost suspiciously, "What _kind_ of sandwich?"

“Tomato and cheese,” Harry replied, perching on the edge of the bed, carefully balancing both sandwiches. “You want yours?”

The blond planted his face back into the pillow and muttered something about it being a _peasant sandwich_ but lifted himself up to sit next to Harry, the smile that tugged at his lips making it obvious that he had been joking. He leaned his head against Harry's shoulder as he took the plate and said, "Thank you, Pookie."

“You’re welcome, boyfriend,” Harry answered fondly before starting on his own belated meal.

The two curled up together again almost immediately after finishing their food, exhaustion returning once the edge of hunger had been sated. Harry shucked his jeans off, but otherwise gave in quickly to the overwhelming need to sleep.

“G’night, Draco,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to the blond’s head and closing his eyes once more.

The following morning, Draco awoke before the sun had even threatened to rise, but he knew that he would not be able to get back to sleep with the anticipation of getting back onto the Hogwarts Express and returning to the school that he had not seen since the battle that had raged there earlier in the year.

He quietly untangled himself from Harry, grabbing the clothes which he had set out for himself, as well as his small toiletry bag, and sneaking out of the room to use the washroom down the hall to shower so as to not wake the Gryffindor up. It did not take him long to get clean and to set his hair quite precisely atop his head, dressing himself in a crisp black suit. Even after that, it had still not even hit six o'clock.

The Slytherin wrapped his green scarf around his neck and quietly padded down the stairs and out the door, walking in the brisk autumn air to a café not far from where Harry's house stood, where he ordered three of the largest and strongest coffees available from the establishment, bringing them back to Grimmauld and casting a warming charm over both Potter and Granger's before double-checking both his and Harry's things.

He almost regretted opening up Harry's trunk. There was no rhyme or reason to it, and he spent most of the extra time he had left just organizing the trunk, as well as gathering a good dozen or so items from around the house and packing them away, completed baffled at the fact that the Gryffindor could have entirely forgotten to pack his pewter cauldron and dragon hide gloves.

Harry woke to a cold bed and the sound of Hermione’s voice as she stuck her head in his door. “I told you to be up by seven!” she chastised. “Draco’s already up and dressed; how are you still asleep?”

Harry groaned and covered his head with his pillow. He’d had delusions of one more slow morning with Draco, possibly involving getting up to more of what they’d done the night before, but it was obvious his fantasies weren’t going to come to fruition. “Go away; it’s still early,” he grumbled from inside his cave of cotton and down. “We don’t have to be there for _ages._ ”

Draco listened to the exchange from the spot at the bottom of the stairs where he had just finished repacking both of their trunks and looked up to flash an amused smile at a very irritated Hermione as she walked down the stairs, her hands up in defeat. He stood, smoothing out his jacket, and assured, "I’ll get him up."

"Good,” Hermione responded with feeling, “because I _will_ leave without him if he isn't ready. I am Head Girl, and I _cannot_ be late for this train."

This statement was met with a small and playful salute as Malfoy said, "You can count on me. For once. I’ve got this." He quickly fetched the coffee that he had purchased for Harry before running up the stairs and throwing open the door unceremoniously, setting the cup down on the bedside table before pouncing onto the bed and quite literally singing at the top of his voice, "Good morning, _good morning!_ Sunbeams will soon smile through. Good morning _, good morning to you._ "

Cringing, Harry burrowed deeper under the pillow, trying to ignore the bouncing mattress and extremely unnerving serenade. “Stop that!” he groaned. “You’re supposed to love me; why are you torturing me?!”

Malfoy let out a loud laugh and said, "It is not torture, Pookie. I brought coffee! And who doesn't love to wake up to some music?"

“Sane people,” Harry grumbled, but he took the pillow off his head and sat up, grabbing the coffee without even bothering to put his glasses on. “How do you even _know_ that song?” he complained, sipping at the hot beverage and letting it melt away some of his morning irritability.

Draco gave a shrug and said, "My mother used to sing it. She said she learned it from Andromeda. I didn't find out until something like fifth year that it was a Muggle song. I was singing it in the dorms, and Blaise let me in on that. His mother was very into theatre, and so he had been exposed to even Muggle musicals. But, it is catchy." As Harry sipped at his coffee, Draco ducked forward to press a few kisses at his neck and added, "Plus, I ordered my own coffee with five extra shots of espresso this morning, and I have too much pent up energy to not be a little ridiculous. So come on. Wake up!"

At the announcement of the quantity of caffeine his boyfriend had consumed, Harry shuddered. “Merlin. How have you not had a heart attack?”

"Sheer stubbornness," Draco replied happily as he climbed out of the bed. He straightened his rumpled suit once more and then added, "But come on. You need to get showered and dressed — I grabbed an outfit for you."

Muttering under his breath, Harry finished his coffee and climbed reluctantly out of bed, making his way toward the en suite bathroom. “You know, it would have been much easier for you to get me into the shower if you weren’t dressed already,” he complained halfheartedly. However, he obediently conducted his morning routine, not standing overlong in the blissfully hot water before wrapping a fluffy towel around himself and returning to the bedroom. “All right,” he sighed resignedly, “what am I wearing? Please tell me it’s not a suit; I don’t think that look’s for me.” He eyed Draco’s pristine ensemble warily.

Draco had waited in the room while Harry washed up, and he set out the outfit he had chosen on the bed for the other. At the comment, he rolled his eyes. "Not a suit, grumpy-gills. Just some slacks and a nice sweater." He gestured to the outfit, black trousers and a deep red sweater with a little Gryffindor crest emblazoned on the chest.

Harry finally allowed himself a small smile when he saw what Malfoy has chosen for him. “Thanks,” he said, his voice genuine. “Now get out of here and let me get dressed, or I really will make us late.”

It wasn’t long before the pair were downstairs, eating a simple breakfast made up of the minimal food that was still left in the house while Hermione called out occasional questions or instructions. “Don’t forget Prongs,” she called at one point, her voice inexplicably coming from the basement.

Harry rolled his eyes and swallowed a bite of toast. “I’m not going to _forget my owl,_ Hermione!” he called back exasperatedly, looking to Draco for help.

Draco smiled back at Harry before calling down to Hermione, "I made a checklist, Granger. Between the two of us, I am sure we can get Potter there _with_ all his belongings!" Another grin was flashed in Harry's direction as he added, "I set his cage in the hall already. I also packed some treats for him in your trunk. He and Archimedes should be done with their hunts if you want to call them in."

Harry smiled fondly at his overly organized boyfriend. “I really shouldn’t be charmed by how similar you two are,” he mused, “but it’s sort of adorable.”

Draco looked legitimately offended and said, "Don't be rude, Potter." He lifted his cup of tea to his lips and added playfully, "She is a _much_ better person."

Harry just smiled.

Despite all of Hermione’s worrying, they arrived at Platform 9¾ absurdly early. It was just past 9:30 when they walked through the barrier and onto the concrete-floored wizard space beyond. “Well, it’s better to be early than late,” Hermione defended to Ron, who had joined to see them off for nostalgia’s sake, and who just squeezed her in a fond, one-armed hug while Harry rolled his eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would be joining them with Ginny at a more reasonable time, despite her protests that she was an adult and it was entirely unnecessary, but there were very few people on the platform other than a few overanxious first years and their parents who pointed and whispered at Harry, although fortunately they all seemed to know better than to try to corner him here.

That might partially have to do with Draco, whose hand Harry was gripping like a lifeline. People were still wary of Draco, despite his relationship with Potter, and although it would usually bother Harry, he was glad for the buffer today. This was his first time at King’s Cross since his bizarre experience in the Forbidden Forest, and his nostalgia was mixed with a discomfort at the reminder of his death. He barely paid attention to the whispers, instead trying to keep his breathing steady. He knew the castle would be even worse, with the memories of the dead intruding on the comforting sense of home he’d always had at Hogwarts, a knowledge he’d been trying to ignore since he decided to return. His clammy hand squeezed Draco’s, a solid reminder that the world had moved forward and that he wasn’t alone.

Draco turned to look at the other boy as his hand was gripped tightly. He was all too aware of the looks they were drawing and the fact that Potter was likely going to have a very hard time actually going back to school. He had mentally coached himself about showing up for Harry today — putting himself and his own nerves to the side for the time being. Relationships were give and take, and this was a day that he knew he needed to be the one to give a bit extra. The Slytherin lifted Harry's hand, still maintaining his own grip, and pressed his lips against the back of it, directly over the scars that read _I must not tell lies_.

"Hey, Potter," he said softly against the skin. "I will be right next to you the whole trip. It will be all right."

Harry let out a shuddering breath. “Yeah. Yeah, it’ll be fine.” He shook his head to clear it and then looked at Draco, giving him a half smile. “Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t expect to…” he trailed off and gave an embarrassed half shrug. Hermione and Ron were watching him surreptitiously but seemed satisfied with Malfoy’s handling of the situation because they didn’t attempt to intervene.

"You don't have to apologize to me, Potter," Draco replied with a smile of his own before continuing, "I can understand that it's overwhelming. I’m sure there is a lot that I can't even begin to fathom, but what I _do_ know would be a lot for anyone to deal with. You’re doing just fine." The blond then leaned in a bit and added in a hushed voice, "Plus, I snuck some firewhiskey into my jacket that we can break into on the train… if the Head Girl won’t rat us out."

A grin split Harry’s face at that, and he leaned his forehead against Malfoy’s. “She wouldn’t dare,” he whispered, before closing the last little bit of space between them to kiss Draco briefly. A flurry of camera flashes went off, and Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. It was an annoyance, but in combination with his boyfriend’s decidedly Slytherin solution to his anxiety, it served to snap him out of his burgeoning panic.

Slowly, the platform filled, and the pair made small talk with Ron and Hermione and then, as they trickled in, various returning classmates and their families. Harry felt a great swell of nostalgia and fondness as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley arrived with an exasperated Ginny and Mrs. Weasley proceeded to fuss over all of them in her usual well-intentioned if slightly overbearing way. And then, before they knew it, the Hogwarts Express was pulling into the station, and it was time to board.

Harry took a deep breath and took Draco’s hand once more. “Are you ready for this?” he asked.

"Ready as I’ll ever be," Draco replied. As he made his way hand in hand with Harry towards the Hogwarts Express, he was certain that this year would be far different than any other they had ever experienced. But regardless of what their teachers and fate might have in store for them, Draco Malfoy was confident that it would be the best year he had ever had. He had Harry at his side. All was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all there is, kids! If you liked it, leave us a comment, pretty please! Who knows, enough positive feedback and we miiiiight be convinced to do an Eighth Year sequel? Also, if you're so inclined, you can find us both on tumblr as Gallifrey1sBurning and milo-ren-solo.


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